


Contract with a demon

by Fynnian



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: Action, Drama, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 45,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5000374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fynnian/pseuds/Fynnian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had seen Dantalion almost slaughter Michael, had seen Camio extinguish a horde of demons without so much as a hand's wink. Damn, he had to do something!<br/>---<br/>When Michael grows tired of waiting for Uriel to complete his mission Metatron senses his chance to pull the angel to his side. As the drama enfolds an unusual offer could provide the solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**01**

 

In the dim remnants of light that foretold dawn Sitri sat in his room, arms wrapped around his legs, his had resting on his knees. He was already wearing his nightgown, prepared for bed. The surrounding grey plus the extending shadows all around him perfectly mirrored his mood.  
His thoughts all whirled around one topic: He had to eliminate his disadvantage in the run for the title of substitute king. Although the election was unlikely to be anytime soon, he had to catch up with his concurrents.  
He had seen Dantalion almost slaughter Michael, had seen Camio extinguish a horde of demons without so much as a hand's wink. He knew William adored Camio for his position as head boy and for his remarkable grades. And even if Sitri always was the first to jump to William's aid Dantalion each time ended up being the one to save him.

Outstretching his legs, he lay down flat on his back, his arms still resting above his head, his eyes closed. It was all too frustrating!  
Sitri was handsome, polite, graceful. He had good manners. Yet none of these seemed to matter to William.  
His arms slumped limply to his sides, making a dump sound on the fluffy bed sheets.  
Damn, he had to do something!

 

~*~

 

Before him the gently burning candles, touching his face with their warmth, the faint hint of incense in the air, surrounded by darkness and the total absence of any noise Uriel stood there, his eyes shut, revelling in the calm atmosphere. He loved those nights when all was sleeping, when he didn't have to worry about William to be in danger, when no demons travelled the yards.

Behind him the hinges of the entrance door gave a small cry. Surprised by the unexpected noise he opened his eyes, slightly turning around to meet whoever cared to visit a church at night time. Maybe William had something on his mind he wanted to discuss. Or maybe Metatron came to tease him a little more. He didn't think of Michael. The great archangel wouldn't use the door to make his appearance. He stood perfectly still, no readable expression on his face, surveying the shape at the door who was still bathed in darkness.  
The person noiselessly closed the massive door behind it and then slowly made its way in his direction, stopping merely inches in the candle light's reach. Now Uriel recognized Sitri.  
For a second he was perplexed. Then immediately an expression of disapproval appeared on his face. He stood silent, waiting for Sitri to state his business. Hence Sitri seemed to be waiting for something, too. The two of them stared at one another for several moments, until finally Uriel let out a small unnerved sigh.  
"What is a demon doing in a church after nightfall, I wonder?"

First, Sitri seemed unsure as how to answer, but then he started to smile one of his casual everyday-smiles and stated: "Isn't it the priest's duty to lift students' heavy minds?"

Uriel snorted.

When the angel did not say anything further, Sitri changed tactics. His smile faded as quickly as it had come.  
"I came to talk to you."  
Still Uriel only stood there, tall and expectant, intimidating eyes fixed on the smaller one.  
Sitri fought the urge to shift uncomfortably. He didn't like what he was about to do, though he couldn't come up with any other solution to his problem. If only Uriel was more of the talkative kind, it would have been easier for him to ignore his pride and ask what he came to ask.  
"I have a request."  
Before he could waver in his decision he hurriedly added: "I want you to train me."  
Said that, he once again fell silent to await his answer.

Uriel blinked, baffled, unsure if he had heard right.  
"To train you?"

Nodding, Sitri tried to explain himself:  
"You're an angel of presence, a former archangel, a seraph with an incredible amount of strength. You're amongst the most powerful angels. Thus I ask you to teach me."

The addressee couldn't help but be confused. It didn't make sense to him. A demon demanding an angel to tutor him in battle-magic? Ridiculous! Yet Sitri seemed to be serious about it.  
"Why?", was all that he asked in return.  
Sitri answered: "To become stronger, of course", accompanied by a shrug.  
Suspicion all but too visible the dark haired pressed on: "What would you need greater powers for?" He was sure it could not be something good coming from a devil. If a demon craved greater power, he was likely to use it against humanity or heaven.  
"To protect William."  
The answer struck Uriel. Angrily he reprimanded the demon: "Do not use young master as an excuse for your mischief!" His voice had grown colder.  
"I'm not making excuses.", Sitri defended himself. He knew this wouldn't be easy. "By all your powers, you cannot protect him all the time. Think: How often does he get pulled into hell? You cannot enter hell, for it is forbidden by ancient law. But I can. Help me improve my skills and I will guard him whenever you're not around."  
He had chosen his words long before approaching Uriel, knowing it was dearly important not to lie to the angel of resentment. Therefore he concentrated on the lesser yet altogether true reason of the Container's security. William was dear to him, not only for being the reincarnation of Solomon, who once had been like an older brother to the lonely demon. The boy had his own way of winning people's hearts. Since there weren't many people Sitri really cared for the more inclined he was to protect those who managed to gain his sympathy.  
That it wasn't his main reason he needn't to tell his vis-à-vis.

It seemed Uriel was considering his argument. So far so good.  
"If his safety in fact means this much to you I guess you'll protect him anyway. Besides, there are Dantalion and Camio as well."  
Sitri caught something lingering right behind Uriel’s eyes. The angel's tenseness had almost faded completely, telling Sitri - much to his discomfort - that he no longer took him seriously. It equalled a sneer for the white haired, calling forth his rage.  
"So you're going to tell me you'd trust Dantalion?", he angrily demanded, his voice raised. "The one murdering Solomon? The idiot who always lets rage and pride get the better of him? He never thinks his actions through! He-" He forced himself to stop speaking. Taking a deep breath, he managed to regain his composure.  
He seemed to have hit a point since Uriel's face darkened considerably.  
"If I could help it I would've ridden the world clear of that stain long ago. But there is no helping it, William stubbornly refuses to accept the danger he is in.", the former archangel spoke, his words tasting bitter.  
Seizing his chance, Sitri caught up on the topic at once: "The more reason there is to have someone you can trust amongst hell's inhabitants!"

He wasn't prepared for Uriel to laugh.

"Trust a demon? I sincerely doubt I ever could."

The younger was clearly taken aback.  
"Plus you are no match for Dantalion."  
Sitri bit his lip. Oh, he knew! Still, hearing the other say it aloud stirred his anger at himself. Overdone by a nephilim... This mustn't be.  
"Then make me one.", he snapped back.

Instead of answering the angel turned away, once again turning his attention at the candles.  
Obviously he lost all interest in the conversation.  
Angry at being dismissed like that Sitri took another step forward.  
“At least give it some thought!”

Uriel merely made his way across the room, collecting left-over liturgical-books. He gave no sign of heaving heard the solicitant at all.  
Grinding his teeth, Sitri made his way to the altar, knowing that most probable Uriel would go there next.  
And indeed, after placing the books in their shelter he strode towards the altar, stopping in his tracks when he again stood face to face with the feminine looking demon. His facial expression telling all Sitri needed to know, he shoved aside the intruder and unperturbed proceeded his clearings.

All right, so Sitri was in need of some harder measurements. To achieve his goals he was used to go to certain lengths. Still, evoking the wrath of the angel before him was something he’d prefer not to be forced to resort to.  
Pretending to give up on his plan he started to slowly make his way back to the doors. As if suddenly recalling something, he paused for a moment, almost lightheartedly cozing: "Too bad you do not have any allies that aren't under control of Michael. Given his short temper I'm quite sure he'll send someone else to do the job you chose to abandon. By the way - does he know by now?"  
Behind him, Uriel froze, unprepared to hear another voicing his worst fears. Sitri didn't know, pacing pronounced relaxed, although he half expected the as well short-tempered angel to send him crashing into the next wall any moment. Uriel wasn't one to joke around with and most certainly not so by a demon. Yet nothing happened to his surprise until he found himself reaching the portal. At least he had expected some reaction. Any reaction.  
When he turned around he was hit full force by the angel's darkest glare which always promised pain if not death. Unsure if he overdid it, Sitri grabbed the handle and, playing on chance, add-ed: "Well, just think about it. Good night."

When he was long gone, Uriel still stood there, deeply in thought, a grim concern clouding his face.  
Unfortunately Sitri was right - just how long could he fob Michael?


	2. Chapter 2

**02**

 

"He William! Say, what are you going to do in your Holiday?", Isaak wanted to know.

The group sat together for their usual evening tea, the table so full of cookies and cakes it was likely to break down any minute.  
"Ah, the Holiday? I forgot all about that.", asked one absentmindedly answered.  
William nibbled at his tea, his nose poked in a Latin dictionary.  
Isaak chuckled. "You know why it's called the 'end of the year-exams'? It's because despite of christmas holiday nothing happens afterwards.", he joked.  
William frowned into his book.  
"Of course I know! But I prefer to prepare for the exams instead of planning my vacation. If I want to skip another grade, I have to be splendid."  
Already big brown eyes grew even bigger. "Eeeh? You want to drop another year?"  
"It's most efficient to minimize the time I have to rely on study credits."  
Before Isaak could say anything, Dantalion put his hands on the table, leaning over it in order to be closer to William, who sat at the other side in a luxurious armchair.  
"I already told you I'd pay -" But a single glance cut him off. "Alright, understood!", the tall de-mon sighed, letting himself drop back onto the couch.  
"If you keep on shortening your time at school I soon won't be able to see you anymore.", Isaak whined. "Then I'm left all by myself! I'm never going to make it without you!"  
The blonde turned a page, let his gaze run over it, then stated rather swanky: "I know."  
For a second Isaak revelled in his unhappy fate, then his cheerful self took over as it usually did.  
"Then let's make the best of the time left!"  
"Mhm.", was all he got for an answer.

Sean, who sat (or rather clamped) on the sofa between Isaak and Sitri, simply giggled.  
"Master surely isn't conversational when studying." "You'll get used to it", Sitri, who was sta-tioned on Isaaks lefthand side, told him. "If you disturb him too often he starts throwing books at you."  
Sean's eyes grew wide. "Did you try out?"  
"Sure."  
And again, Sean giggled.

William sighed. In this tumult he was unlikely to memorize a single vocable. Hoping he could retreat to his room to learn in a quieter atmosphere he shut the book and stood up.  
"Well then, enjoy your party, I'm off."  
As dreaded he didn't even make it past the armchair.  
Isaak sprung to his feet, exclaiming: "Wait, I-"  
"SIT DOWN!"  
Shocked by his friend's tone Isaak froze solid. "Eh?"  
"Sit down immediately!!", William repeated in a authoritative manner.  
When Isaak merely looked at him in confusion, he put his precious book on the table and shoved the readhad back to his seat.  
"Eeehh... Why is it so important that I sit?", the boy finally managed to ask.  
Exasperating William explained: "Because you are the barrier between those weirdos!" He pointed his finger at the whole group.  
"Sean mustn't sit next to Sitri or he'll blabber something embarrassing like last month -" The memory of little Sean almost proposing to Sitri shook his demor paradigm to the core. "And if Sitri and Dantalion sit next to each other, they'll most probably wreck the whole room in their quarrels!"  
As if he had not been part of the accusation, the whitehaired demon calmly commented that he had already remarked that Dantalion "would only ruin the occasion".  
Of course the mentioned jumped to his feet, accusing Sitri .... needless to recount, as all of you should already know.  
Several insults, defamations and useless attempts to arbitrage later the four again squashed on the couch, an exhausted William seated opposite them.

"All right, if I stay, will you stop that?"  
The non-answer he received supposedly meant something like "Accepted."

For some moments now the place kept quiet much to William's pleasure, who once more tried to stick in some vocabulary.  
Sitri and Sean proceeded clearing the table off the most delicate sweets, Dantalion just scowled at the wall, Isaak clenched and unclenched his fists, indecisive whether to try again to talk to William or not.  
When he finally set aside his book, Isaak jumped at the chance.  
"Eh, William? I only wanted to ask, since you don't seem to have any appointments up to now, you know, I wondered if you would like to but just if you want you don't have to-" "Isaak." "Ehehe... Sorry. Uhm...” A short moment of hesitation, then: ”I just wanted to invite you over to celebrate Christmas at my place. Now that we are in different classes we so rarely meet and I thought it would be nice to spend some time together. Of course you can bring Kevin along."  
Baffled, William considered his offer.  
"I haven't really celebrated Christmas for years now. Though Kevin always insisted." Now that I'm aware of him being an angel I do not wonder about it anymore, he added to himself. "I guess he would enjoy a decent festivity for once."  
Wanting to make the deal official Isaak probed: "So that's a yes?"  
"Yes."  
And they both smiled.

 

Not too long after that, William excused himself and went to study some more in his room. When he left, Dantalion didn’t seem to have any reason to stick around anymore and left as well.  
Now that there were left only the three of them, space at the sofa immediately increased.  
Sean instantly made himself comfortable.  
Ignoring the child Sitri turned to the red-haired youth in a graceful motion, his facial expression the sweetest smile possible.  
“Ne, Isaak?” The demon playfully tilted his head. “May I have a word with you?”


	3. Chapter 3

**03**

 

White fields glided past the window of the carriage. The skeletal forms of trees covered with snow sprinkled the elsewise flawless white here and there.  
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"  
Uriel smiled contently. "A snowy landscape is like a new sheet of paper, it is perfect."

William who didn't say anything so far raised an eyebrow at his friend's remark.  
"Yeah, perfectly cold."  
He cuddled deeper into his coat.  
Unfortunately the long way to Isaak's place wound through endless meadows, offering no shel-ter for the small vehicle. The frosty winds could be felt inside as outside.  
"Say, why aren't you feeling cold?", William suspiciously demanded. He was shivering like mad, burried in a puddle of coat, multiple scarfs, hat and gloves. Yet Uriel didn't even bother to wear a single scarf.  
"Oh, it surely is cold, young Master."  
The young man's eyes stared accusingly from between layers of fabric. "I don't believe you. You're not even trying to cover your bare neck!"  
Trying to befriend his master the older one smiled excusingly, musing: "Maybe I am more used to it. I spend most of the day within the chapel. As you know, churches aren't blessed with heating-systems."  
Accepting the offered solution for the time being William leaned back. "Maybe."  
Or maybe, he thought, this was some kind of angel-business. Could angels freeze? He didn't know.  
He regarded the tall man before him, those familiar features. Not even four months had passed since he learned of his steward's true identity. He still wasn't used to it. He didn't even know how to call him anymore. Out of habit he sticked to Kevin, this being the name he was ad-dressed by at school anyway. But now, when they were in private? Wouldn't it be more appro-priate to call him by his real name? Then again he did not want to ask such an awkward ques-tion.

Uriel who noticed the blonde's absentmindedness stayed quiet, enjoying the time he got to spend with his dearest friend. Losing himself in his own thoughts he pictured the upcoming weeks, a smile flashing over his lips. A suitable Christmas-party... He was ultimately happy for William. At last the boy would be able to enjoy these holy days with a family again.

~*~

By the time they passed the small town behind which lay the Morton-premises sun was almost set. When the carriage finally came to a stop in front of the main entrance it was dark.  
"Greets, William!", Isaak shouted, stumbling out of the house to greet his guest.  
The two boys hurried inside, leaving Uriel to deal with the luggage.

 

As soon as he was embraced by the splendid warmth within the house Williams cheeks flushed rose.  
"Geez, you couldn't believe how cold it got today! I'm sure we're far beneath zero.", he said while he entangled himself from his coat-scarf-mixture. "I can't wait to get warm."  
He sniffed. "What is this smell?"  
What he did not notice was that Isaak started to nervously scratch his ear.  
"Uhm, well~ They insisted to bake something traditional. Guess they're making gingerbread men or anything like that.", he stammered. "B-but come in first! Let's saddle down in the living-room and get warm feet."  
Warm feet being all the reason he could possibly need William practically flew into named room.  
When they were seated and Uriel eventually joined them nearby the carmine Isaak began to shift uncomfortably on the couch.  
"Say, would it be okay with the two of you to share a room? Our guest rooms are limited and ... and ..."  
To prevent his friend from hyperventilating William cut him off, stating: "Guess I can live with that. Will there be so many of your relatives visiting for the feast?"  
"Eeeeeeeeeh..... Not exactly ..."  
Irritated both, William and Uriel, blinked at Isaak.  
Succumbing to his increasing flurry it broke out of him: "I'm so sorry, but he didn't leave me a chance he said he'd take my soul if I didn’t invite him over and I didn't want to die!"  
Precautiously folding his hands in a praying manner the redhead begged of William, who wasn't able to make sense of his 300km/h-blabbering, to forgive him.  
The truth dawning on him the blonde let out a heavy sigh. "Please don't tell me you let in one of them!"  
Even Uriel's gaze darkened considerably. "We'll have to celebrate with demons?"  
Wanting to deescalate the situation Isaak attempted to say that it wouldn't ruin the festivities at all since he promised to behave when an overwhelmingly optimistic children's voice boomed in their ears: "Master! You've arrived!"

"Sean?!"

"Good evening, William-Senpai!" His fag flashed him a broad smile as he always did before tilting his head back over his shoulder, exclaiming: "Didn't I tell you I heard hooves?"  
"M-hm."  
Behind the tiny boy Sitri emerged, a lollipop in his mouth. Smiling sweetly at William he took out the pink ball to welcome him accurately, then busied himself with the raspberry-flavoured thing again.  
Losing no time Sean rounded on the blonde. "Would you like a lolli? I brought apple, coconut, orange, berry-mix... citrus, cake-pop, liquorice, banana, lemongrass...." He pulled out an army of differently coloured sticks, wherever from.  
Refusing the offered mass of sugar-orbs William took the opportunity to ask: "Why are you here, Sean?"  
"At my home we do not celebrate Christmas. It's very lonely. So, when I heard that you'd be here and that Sitri would attend too I begged Isaak to let me come as well. We will be like a big family the next two weeks.", he explained while scanning his armful of treats for one to ravish.  
"And why is Sitri here?"  
William turned towards the demon, less than thrilled to have to endure him in his vacation.  
"Same reason."  
"Are you kidding me?!"  
There was no way he'd believe that story. Since the day he stumbled upon the seal hidden in his home's basement there was always a demon following him everywhere for ominous rea-sons. He didn't buy Sitri's innocent looks!  
When William was just about to explode Sean suddenly gave a high pitched gasp and let his lot of sweets drop on the floor.  
"Ne, William-senpai? I almost forgot! You must see something!"  
Seizing his senior's hand with surprising strength he ran for the kitchen, dragging a puzzled Wil-liam along. His chatter could be heard: "We've been making gingerbreadmen! We were just about to finish the decorations when you arrived." Thump. Supposedly the kitchen door fell shut behind the pair.

William and Sean gone Isaak was left in the living room together with Uriel and Sitri. Last stood seemingly unfazed by the door, crunching the remnants of a poor lollipop with his sharp teeth.  
At the other end of the room Uriel sat on the couch, his face stony. Isaak had never seen him like that. In an attempt to excuse once more he addressed the pastor in a low voice "Mister Cecil -" at which the angel bolted into a standing position, glaring murderous at the demon.  
"What are you doing here?"  
Not even flinching Sitri shrug his shoulders. "Enjoying time with my friends, I guess?"  
"I'm not having any of it! You'll ruin Master's holiday!"  
Slowly Sitri approached the carmine.  
"Calm down, I merely want to have an eye on William. Besides, I'm still waiting for an answer." He snipped the lolli's now useless grip stick into the flames. "For the right answer."  
In an instant Uriel was at his side, getting a firm grip on his white hair and pulling on it, forcing Sitri to fight for balance. "I warn you: If you try anything suspicious you'll burn to ashes!"

"Geez, a demon and an angel fighting in my own house~ How exciting!", Isaak glittered.

Distracted named demon as well as angel turned their heads and looked at the boy in bewil-derment.  
Without any comment Uriel let go of Sitri's hair, returning to the sofa. Curtly rubbing his face with his hands he took back his seat and sighed deeply. This would be very very very long two weeks.

Before the silence building between the triple had a chance to become awkward, Sean burst into the room, carrying a plate laden with freshly baked goods, followed straight by William, car-rying a second one.  
"We're back~", he announced superfluous. "Let's eat!"  
They placed their carriage on the wooden table. Positioning himself next to his Steward William noticed Uriel's distress. Worried he wanted to know: "He, is everything alright?" eyeing him closely.  
Uriel made an effort to smile as if nothing happened and simply nodded reassuringly.

"Uncle will feel better when eating one of this!"  
Sean shoved a gingerbredman in Uriel's mouth, causing him to cough.  
Taking the specially shaped bakery out of his mouth he examined it, his eyes narrowing at the sight. One of his eyebrows raised he addressed Sean, who already conquered the seat next to Sitri: "Is this an angel?"  
Something snake-like shimmered through the youngster's eyes. "U-hum~ And you just bit up the head." He smiled innocently. Still, Uriel got the hint all too clear.  
"Maybe you'd prefer to eat one of mine?", the white-haired demon cut in, holding out a liquo-rice-covered manikin to him. William looked at it in confusion. "What is it supposed to look like?" "It's a demon, of course."  
Shoving aside the offered treat Uriel harshly stated: "I definitely do not want to have that."  
Shrugging it off Sitri bit into the thing himself.  
While they were eating a decent conversation managed to unfold. The group talked about reci-pes, the weather, politics and last week's exams.

Uriel stayed quiet, absentmindedly flipping the eatable miniature angel in his hands.  
"You know, these look absolutely nothing like demons. They're just a black mess." he heard William scold.  
Tugging at the angel-man's left wing until it broke loose Uriel muttered: "Maybe there's no dif-ference at all." before stuffing the tiny wing into his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**04**

 

Later that night Uriel busied himself unpacking their clothes into the cupboard provided in the guest room while his master prepared for bed within the bathroom.  
His thoughts wandered off to the evening. Actually it had been a quite nice gathering down in the saloon. Sitting by the fire, chatting and eating selfmade bakery were family-events as he wished them for William, still it bothered him that those included Sitri and Metatron. But at least, he thought to himself grimly, Sitri knew to behave himself... mostly. Whereas Metatron - who should have the best manners as a former king and an archangel, damn it! - seemed to have abandoned every etiquette. He was his superior since Uriel lost title and decorum, so un-fortunately there was nothing he could do if the once-been-human chose to bully him.  
Slamming the door shut rather noisily he added to himself: As if Michael wasn't enough!  
Seriously, what did Metatron hope to achieve? Did he hope for Uriel to pick a fight with the cur-rent head-angel? Michael'd destroy him within seconds. Yet, in his current state of fatigue may-be he could be overthrown... STOP! What was he thinking?  
He shook his head to clear it of those inadequate thoughts, then hurried to the bed standing at the left wall. With a firm grip he fluffed the pillow and folded the sheets so that William only needed to slip under them when he returned.  
Funny how he got used to those housekeeping duties over the last few years.

When everything was done to his approval he sat down on his own bed at the opposite wall, glancing out of the window at trees and fields covered with snow and ice. His dark blue eyes caught a movement. Thick white fluffs were floating through the air like a thousand tiny dancing ermines. They hurriedly flew in circles, trying to escape the wind, then they lazily drifted down, only to suddenly jump upwards to catch their fellow in play, the wind, again. A soft smile crept over his thin pale lips. Swiftly he raised from the mattress, trudged over to the window, grabbed the handle and opened one wing. Immediately some of the ermines lurked towards him, pivoting before his eyes, sphering his head, hopping up and down, some leaping at his skin, leaving a feeling of something minuscule biting him. It felt as if they were inviting him to come outside, to unbend his wings and join their dance. His smile turned sad. Not my wings, he inwardly corrected, my sole wing. His left shoulderblade started itching. Closing his eyes, Uriel instinctively lay his left hand on it, trying not to remember that day twothousand years ago when Michael's sword had cut straight through flesh and bone, separating him from his right pennon.  
Behind him, William entered the room, immediately complaining about the cold.  
Uriel lost no time in closing the window again, cursing his thoughtlessness.  
He needed to get his head clear again. His best excuse to leave the room was to conquer the bath. Some fresh water on his face surely would help to straighten his focus once again.

When he came back William already lay cuddled in his sheets, so he avoided making any sound when closing the door and scooping over to the window once again. There were fewer snow-flakes raining down now, allowing him a clearer view of the coated ground. Not a footprint was to be seen. It was flawless.

"Aren't you tired?"  
He inclined his head in the direction of William's bed. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"  
William gave a yawn before he could answer: "No, don't worry." Right after saying so the blonde yawned again, causing Uriel to chuckle silently.  
"Good night, young master."  
He strode over to his friend, shortly skimming a hand over still damp blonde hair. "You're sleep-ing with wet hair? You'll catch a cold!", Uriel couldn't help but scorn. Sometimes William simply was too careless with his body.  
"Wouldn't if someone let the windows closed." a muffled scold came back.  
"Touché."  
Still smiling, Uriel returned to his lookout.  
After some time William's voice sounded again: "Seriously, aren't you going to bed?"  
The teen changed into a sitting position, securely wrapped in his sheets, his weary eyes search-ing the dark for the figure of his steward. "Don't tell me I'm snoring or something!" William never before shared a room with anyone, so of course he wouldn't know.  
"No, you're not. Don't worry. I never sleep at night.", Uriel reassured him.  
William, confused by the statement, stared at the dark grey outline of the window sill. Only slowly his sleepy mind processed the information. Right when he wanted to shoot a retort as "So basically you are sleeping at mid-day then when you should better be at work?" he sudden-ly remembered something he once was told about high-rank demons. To elongate their lives they slept in intervals of a hundred years each. Certainly this applied to angels as well. A sudden feeling of dread made him straighten his back. Every hundred years Kevin needed to rest for another hundred years? Estimating a modern human's life's length of 60 to 80 years, it was likely he had to leave William's side some day.  
"Kevin?"  
"Yes, young master?"  
Swallowing his rising worries William asked directly: "When have you last been to Limbo?"  
An unwelcomed silence filled the room.  
He could make out movement by the window. Then the dim light of a night-stand-lamp forced him to close his eyes for a moment.  
Uriel stood next to the bed, his hand still resting at the switch. His expression was hard to read.  
"Why do you want to know?", the angel asked briskly, but sensing his master's mounting con-cern his tone turned soft again. Sitting down on the bedside, taking one of William's hands in his own, the guardian exclaimed softly: "Didn't I tell you that I'd never leave your side?"  
Doubt clouded the boy's green eyes. Did that mean Uriel had just slept right before replacing the real Kevin Cecil? Did it mean there was no need for him to sleep for another 80 years? Re-gardless, William wanted to know the exact facts, wanted his friend to tell him.  
"Kevin, please."  
Very aware of the angel's fondness of himself William shamelessly attached big pleading eyes and a pout. And of course he got him with it. At least he thought so.  
Uriel averted his gaze, meanwhile gently caressing the still hold hand.  
"It's not important, young master."  
"If it's not important you can tell me anyway."  
"..."  
"Kevin!"  
William had never been known for his patience. He was getting unnerved. What was his butler hiding?  
As usual surrendering to William's wishes Uriel confessed: "I don't know." leaving the teen speechless. Presenting him with an excusing smile Uriel raised himself of the bed once again. As he inclined to turn off the light William grasped his wrist.  
The angel didn't even try to break free of his hold. All he did was pleading. "Believe me, I cannot give you an exact date. But it won't affect us."  
"Then estimate!" he got for an answer.  
Geez, why did he have to discuss this with his master now? Like his gone wing his sleeping hab-its and their effect on his remaining lifetime were things best left alone. Not even he himself wanted to revise it, so why did William? But naturally the boy had to fear he'd have to sleep sooner or later ...

Gently brushing William's hand off him Uriel criss-crossed through the room, trying to remem-ber his last pause. He finally came up with: "Something around 500 years ago."  
"What? But- ... 500 years?! Doesn't that mean that you ... that you... that your life shortens?"  
Uriel's gaze darkened for a moment. Thankfully he had his back turned to William. Indeed, he had shortened his life queasily. Since the death of Solomon Uriel had waited for a chance to amend his actions with a successor to the king, to deliver ecstasy to appease Michael. Not dar-ing to sleep too often in order to not miss any possible descendant he had slept three times since. Three times in a period of two thousand years. As a Seraphim he was blessed with an exceptionally longlivety as long as he kept resting regularly. Nobody had any experience with the impact of abandoning the circle of rest and wake simply because it did not happen yet. Doubtless there would be consequences of some sort. However, William needn't be aware of that.  
Composing his stance, he turned around to meet worried eyes with his own soothing simper.  
"You cannot shorten immortality, right?"  
There was something unsettling in his appeal to William, but he couldn't refute the statement.

Again the angel was at his side, gently nudging him to lean back, killing the light. He felt a warm hand stroking over his hair.  
"Sleep peacefully, young master."  
And he gave in to his tiredness.

~*~

"500 years, hu?"  
Uriel gave a start when he heard the low voice.  
He got thus carried away he hadn't noticed the door opening and Sitri perking in.  
The tall man jolted upright. He unsubtly pushed the smaller one back, then stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.  
His eyebeam was murderous.  
"You're eavesdropping? How scabby. I would have expected better of you."  
"Oh?" Sitri played the elated one. "I'm feeling honoured."  
Not willing to repeat his refusal Uriel brutally grabbed Sitri by his throat, slamming him into the wall thereby. His face merely inches apart from Sitri's he hissed: "I'm not up for your stupid games. Stop chasing after me, I will not change my mind on the matter!"  
Choking rapidly, Sitri managed to regain his smug composure. Putting a finger on his lips he gestured for Uriel to be careful not to wake anyone. Whatever the angel had expected, this was far from it. Baffled he loosened his grip, allowing the white haired demon to liberate himself. He immediately walked over to his own door, waiting there for Uriel to follow him.  
Honestly, was that fallen angel mad?  
Marching straight to where Sitri stood waiting, he allowed the younger one to open the door and to slip inside. Then he sent him flying to the floor with a well placed kick in his back directly followed by a spear of light boring itself only millimetres next to the demon's head.  
"Learn the meaning of the word 'no'!" Uriel spitted out and left the room with a deft slam of the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**05**

 

Warily William stared at the black surface of his coffee, struggling to keep his eyes open. He was dangerously near to dozing off and his head was heavy like a sack of potatoes. Exceptionally big potatoes.  
It was almost impossible to follow Isaak’s chatter concerning plans for this day. Something about going to town.  
Supressing a yawn he tried to focus on Sean who seemed eager to try out how much sugar he could add to his cereals until the milk became solid.

"...liam?"  
Someone nudged him at the shoulder.  
The blonde turned his head, realizing that Isaak spoke to him.  
"William?", the redhead repeated, "Are you alright?"  
Nodding he mumbled his answer to his no more hot drink: "Just didn't sleep well. I had night-mares."  
Then, suddenly getting over his stupor, he turned to Uriel, angrily proclaiming: "And it's totally your fault!"  
The man's sorrowful face spoke myriads of words.  
Isaak could only wonder what must have happened last night between his best friend and his butler. Unsure if he should say something he searched the faces of Sean and Sitri for help, his irritation increasing. The two of them seemed to know what this was all about, Sean's gaze fixed on Uriel, his expression one of utmost disapproval. He really was a strange child at times. Sitri on the other hand seemed completely indifferent. Yet Isaak who came to know Sitri's eating-habits over the last months momentarily noticed the demon's odd behaviour. To someone foreign it would have appeared totally normal but for Sitri to nibble at one and the same cookie for minutes now Isaak knew was somehow wrong. What the hell happened?  
During the rest of breakfast none spoke a word and they all were happy for it to be over. Isaak was the first to break the awkward silence when he said: "So, uhm, I'd say we all go prepare ourselves and meet by the door in fifteen minutes?"  
Said and done no ten minutes later the five of them were gathered fully dressed by the en-trance door.  
A carriage drove them into town, dropping them at the shopping street.

The breakfast's shadow still seemed to hover over them. But when Sean exploded in sheer happiness, his eyes sparkling with joy over being at such a lively place (earnestly, what a strange kid) the spell was broken.  
All of the group started discussing which way to go first, which stores to conquer. In order not to ruin the surprise effect they agreed to part to buy presents and later to rejoin at the starting point. In the evening they'd visit the christmas market together.

Uriel headed directly for the bookshop. A book certainly made for a nice present for his master. Now the only question was: Which book should he choose? He scanned the shelf admitted to Jura and Policy. An exemplar of "Advanced Policy: Additional information for students" caught his eye. He grabbed the book and flipped through the pages. It looked perfect.

"You're different when you're with him."  
Uriel hauled around. Next to him Metatron in his adult-human form leaned against a shelf, his eyes locked to him. His mimic was unreadable.  
"No trace of the proud archangel you have once been. No trace of the powerful, archaic being."  
Uriel stood frozen, unable to figure out how to answer this.  
"Yet you seem happy with being a servant."  
In the blink of an eye he was gone, leaving behind an utterly confused Uriel.  
After he managed to regain his composure the angel hurried out of the shop, nearly forgetting to pay.  
He strode aimlessly, his mind busy proceeding the information he had of Metatron. He was a weird guy who loved to dress up. He never took things seriously. He was unable to estimate the archangel's reasons for attending their trip nor could he make sense of his words.  
Without really noticing it Uriel walked into a park. Few people crossed his ways.  
If Metatron wanted William, he long since would have taken him, Uriel was sure. The only thing he definitely knew was that Metatron sided against Michael to whatever extend. Did he stay by William's side to ensure Michael wouldn't get him? Would he offer protection? Or would he ex-tinguish Solomon's vessel if need be?  
Keeping his master safe was becoming a major task driving him to his limits.

Maybe if he had not been this entangled in his worries he would have sensed his presence. Maybe he could have run. No, he wouldn't have run.  
On a bleak bough behind his back sat someone, smiling as if deeply amused. He had one leg tucked up, resting his upper arm on it on which anon his head rested, safely encircled by the rest of the arm. White-blonde hair danced mildly in the wind, at times veiling deep red eyes that shone with a radiant intensity. His posture occurred to be relaxed, his face kind and soft. There was affection in his gaze when he watched the other passing, unaware of his presence. When his target got some steps past him, he stood up on his branch, stretched his enormous wings and took to the air.

Uriel was hit full force in his upper back, sending him crashing into the snow. A surprisingly scant weight rested on his shoulders. The smaller angel was perching on his back, looking down at his prey with a sweet smile. The taller one would have been able to easily shake him off but he did not.  
The attacker chirped. "It's been a while."  
In a single movement he gracefully leaped off his quarry, landing right in front of him. An ele-gant hand darted forward to lift Uriel's chin, forcing him to return his gaze. The apparent fear in Uriel's eyes let his smile widen, taking almost devilish traces.  
"Mi- Michael-sama!"  
The great headangel retreated slightly, giving his opponent room to raise and clear himself off the snow, scarlet crystals always locked to him.  
"Do me a favour and change into your official attire. You look so awfully human. Don't worry, nobody will see us, we're all alone."  
Already while the archangel said so Uriel could make out the crystalline barrier surrounding them, glittering in the morning light like ice. How befitting, Uriel thought, considering all this snow. Slowly transforming into his own angel-attire, materializing his one wing, the angel of resentment stood taller than his boss. When he had finished changing, Michael, still giving him a gentle smile, leaned forward, looking up at him in anticipation. As so often before it disturbed Uriel how innocent and friendly Michael managed to appear. But then again, it was the same with himself. Whenever he spoke to believers he behaved like Mother Therese, soft and under-standing as long as people followed the laws. Looked at it that way, them angels were weird and altogether hard to predict, even for their own kin.  
"Surely you know what time of the year it is?", Michael began. "I bestowed upon you a very important task, Uriel."  
The one-winged angel tensed distinctly.  
Fainting not to realize Michael went on: "You were off buying presents, weren't you? How nice of you." He gestured for the book still clutched in Uriel's hand and, coming closer, breathed into Uriel's ear: "I'd love to be presented with a certain soul."  
The white-blonde leaned back, carefully surveilling his attendant.  
"Make him ascent before the church bells announce the beginning of the last day of Christ-mas!"  
Uriel clenched his jaw, pressing his lips together. He was aware Michael would return at some point, was aware the great angel's patience was fading. Still he wasn't prepared.  
Not satisfied with his servant's demeanour Michael darted forward again, seizing a handful of feathers of Uriel's wing, dragging his vis-à-vis towards him.  
"Be told: This is your last chance!"  
Biting down a cry of pain Uriel tried to remain composed, causing Michael to brutally rip at his left over wing, hauling his opponent into the almost invisible barrier. The impact hit the breath out of him.  
However Uriel was fast to recover, coming to his feet immediately. His head jolted up, search-ing the form of Michael, prepared to take another blow. But his fellow angel just stood there, the shadow cast by his ponytail hiding his eyes. Something was off.  
“Why?”, the light-haired asked. Simply “Why?!”  
Worried for his chief Uriel walked slowly back to where he stood, approaching Michael with care. He wanted to ask what the other’s question was referring to but before he could do so Michael shot him an indicting glare. Scarlet depths spoke of accusation and disappointment and – may-be he imagined it – a hint of despair?  
Once more a sandaled foot knocked him down, this time leaving him lay flat on his back, tucked down by his superior. Leaning over him Michael shouted, madness tracing his face: “You never wavered in your loyalty before _he_ came. I trusted you. But when he died you shamelessly vio-lated heavenly law invading hell. I showed you mercy because I used to call you an ally. I spared you the shame of falling. I allowed you to stay in heaven. I even gave you a chance to make good on your failure.”  
A hand grabbed dark brown hair, ripping at it uncharitable.  
“Nonetheless you keep disenthralling me. You continuously decline to deliver this soul.”  
Some strands gave way. Closing his eyes Uriel tried to block out the pain. There were only two people in this world he felt completely defenceless against: Michael and William. By all his pow-ers he was incapable of putting up any resistance as if astonished by some mysterious inner force.  
When he opened his eyes again he found the archangel’s red irises boring into his own with the shimmer of decision. Michael levelled his voice when he said: “He must have set a spell on you and I’m determined to break it by any means. Either you seize this last offer of my goodwill and capture Solomon’s faculties for our side or I’ll retrieve both your souls at the second day.”

Having said his lot Michael stepped back, angry with himself for his slip in composure. Giving a last threatening glance he disappeared into thin air and his barrier with him. Now Uriel was alone again, furthermore lying in the snow, his mind numb. Vaguely he recalled having to hide his wing.  
After what seemed like an eternity he managed to stand up. He wiped the white powder off his clothes, leaned down and collected the book he dropped when Michael shoved him away. His motions resembled sleep walking.

He didn’t know how but two hours later he found himself returned to their starting point, sur-rounded by the others waiting for Sean to return.


	6. Chapter 6

**06**

"Oh, we shouldn't have let him go alone!", Isaak worried. "What if he got lost?"  
Hardly able to supress his nervousness Isaak hurried back and forth. The clock showed half an hour past their appointment and Sean still hadn't returned.  
"I'm positive he'll be here any minute.", William tried to calm his friend down. Stopping his pac-ing for a moment Isaak looked hopeful up at the prefect. "You think so? But he's so small. If something happened -"  
"Neh, Sean's smart. He won't get lost."  
Not ensured at all Isaak went on running up and down the street on his nervous lookout, Wil-liam following in his track trying to deescalate the boy.  
Sitri, who together with Uriel remained at the spot, watched them hurry along. "If he doesn't return I'm the one responsible!", he heard the tea freak cry before the boys' voices faded due to distance. When they were far enough gone the demon used the situation to grace a certain angel with his unshared attention.  
"Do you know that your back is dusted with snow?", he asked but somehow Uriel failed to lis-ten, even when Sitri repeated the question. Oh, he would not be ignored!  
He slapped a hand at the angel's back, immediately retreating when it caused Uriel to jump in shock, giving a strange strangled sound of horror. Well, that absolutely wasn't the reaction he had been expecting. Uriel stared at him in bewilderment as if he just remembered he still was around. With a scowl Sitri spoke into the somehow distressing placidity: "You had snow on your Jacket."

Sitri's voice was calm and steady. Uriel felt his mind return to the present. He searched those innocent blue eyes for something he himself couldn't name when a vision of similar innocent looking red ones flashed into his mind. He mustn't forget that these innocent looks were noth-ing but a facade.  
He averted his gaze.  
Angered by the other's lack in attention Sitri attempted to speak again. Right at that moment the boys whirled past them.

"His parents will kill me! And then my parents will kill me!"  
"Idiot, it's impossible to die more than once. Even if there are some records of near-death ex-perience it's highly unscientific to thi..."

Uriel only now seemed to notice the two running around the street. Whatever he had on his mind must have been something grave if it could divert the guard's advertence like that, Sitri thought. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. Sitri could read in his face that Uriel appar-ently didn't know what was up, as if he hadn't been present over the last half of an hour. Well, Sitri wouldn't tell him, and Uriel wouldn't ask, so they stood there in silence.  
Had it been a good idea to choose Uriel as his mentor? Sitri wondered not for the first time. But what other choices had there been? None he was aware of. It was pointless to debate it with himself over and over again. There was no backing down to this challenge now.

"...ice. They'll know what to do."  
William and Isaak were back, lesser one looking uncomfortable at the waiting pair. "We've de-cided to report to the police. Will you come along?"  
Before either the demon or the angel were able to say anything, William spoke up: "We did not decide that!"  
"What else can we do?" Isaak looked like being on the verge of crying. William struggled for an answer. "Uhm... äh.... ... Kevin!"  
He rounded on his steward, startling the clueless butler. "Y- young master?"  
Sitri hid his grin in the soft woollen scarf he wore.  
"What do you suppose we do?", William demanded.  
"Eeh.... What about the plan of visiting the market?", the brunette stumbled. He had absolutely no idea what William was referring to. Until seconds before his thoughts had been occupied by Michael’s ultimatum, not leaving the tiniest space for other worries. Now he had to play on chance, cause he’d never admit not paying attention to his protégé. William would only chaff him about it or worse demand him to voice his concerns.  
Anyway, his meagre answer was the wrong one given his master's exasperated reaction. "He'll never find us there if he cannot even find us here!"  
Behind Uriel's back Sitri was snickering silently. Unfortunately William noticed, angered, immedi-ately rebuking the demon: "What's so funny about this?"  
Isaak tugged on the blonde's sleeve. "Come on William, let's just go to the police office." Wil-liam refused obstinately.  
"Why are you against going there this much?" The poor redhead was getting frantic. He by all means understood that it would be best to console an officer, still William didn't want to picture the impact of his name written in the newspapers in an article about child-disappearance to his glory future. He had to come up with a better idea to keep his waistcoat purely white. And then it hit him.  
"Sitri!" He turned to the demon. "You go find Sean!"  
Now Sitri wasn't snickering any more, but staring at William with his usual indifferent expression.  
"Why should I care for the brat?"  
As response William solely picked a bobby pin out of the demon's bangs and bent down.  
"William?"  
With a few versed streaks the descendent of Solomon drew the summoning seal of Bitru into the snow. Then he stood up, ordering Sitri again: "Now go and get Sean."  
"That's unfair!" The demon was agitated. "Why me?" But all four of them knew that Sitri did not have a chance to deny William the service.

~*~

"You go find Sean!", the demon bickered while walking down the street. "I'm not his servant!"  
Okay, technically he was, given the circumstance that William held his sigil. But still. "Just be-cause he doesn't want to do it himself.", he muttered grumpily.  
The faster he finished the job the better.

His gaze travelled the display windows of the shops and stores he passed. Where was a child most likely to go? In hell - let alone in his uncle's house - there were too few children for Sitri to have considerable knowledge about their habits. A toyshop maybe? Was there anything around like that?  
"Narf, this is stupid!"  
He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, calling forth his demonic powers. He remembered the boy's aura and concentrated on it, willing to find its owner. Luckily even humans were sur-rounded by distinct auras, even when they were weak in comparison to those of magically trained creatures. There! Sitri sensed the soft afterglow of the child's presence, then he felt the mixture of feelings, intend and personality radiated by Sean's body. He opened his eyes again to look in what direction the little plague had gone. There were traces of his being in most of the shops down the alley. The brat had obviously been running from store to store. Sitri would-n't follow his track. He knew where the boy was now, he'd take the shortest route to get there and then drag the runaway along all way back, so he started off directly in the direction he had sensed him.

While he was walking along Sitri's mind travelled back. This supressed noise of shock Uriel gave when Sitri touched his back rang in his ears. It had been disconcerting to some level. Hadn't the angel looked worried all along since he came back from shopping? His eyes had been so distant, as if seeing far into a realm only he knew. If he had been recalling something? A painful memory? A sad past?  
Alarmed, Sitri shook his head. Why the damn hell was he concerned for Uriel? Why did he care for the angel's feelings? Uriel was a pawn for him, a useful tool to improve his own skills. Seri-ously! He feared William might have rubbed off on him with his sympathy. Or otherwise residing in the human world started to take its toll on the demon. Pity and sympathy were emotions you better forgot to survive in hell, he strictly needed to remember that lesson Baalberith had taught him so many years ago.

To shake off the incoming reminder of a life long gone where he did not have to choke his feel-ings he focused on the present. He was crossing a meadow covered in hoarfrost, the stems giving small crackling sounds beneath his feet. Crick. Crick. Crack. Crick.  
Right, he told himself, kill all sentiments, be impervious. Only care for what is now, what is real. Don't let yourself be hurt.

Suddenly a familiar smell reached his nose, rooting him to the spot. First he suspected he merely imagined it, but when he breathed in the air he could clearly detect it. A wisp of light, like the odour of a sunny day itself, of gentle warmth and light-heartedness. A notion of Heaven. A scent angels carried with them.  
Anxiously his head swung around, scanning his surroundings for any sign of supernatural be-ings. At first glance there were none to be found. Exhaling sharply Sitri willed himself to calm down. Surely no angel would want to pick a fight in the middle of day in a public place like the park he currently traversed to get faster to his aim. Now that he sniffed again he noticed that the scent was already fading. Nevertheless he felt uneasy. Angels avoided descending to earth if not necessary for their task, meaning that angel had had business here. Business with Wil-liam? Where they being watched? Or worse, would they be attacked?  
In front of him the snow was awhirl and messy as if a bunch of kids had raged through. Yet the surrounding parts of floor were almost untouched.  
Sitri stepped in the middle of the clutter, where the smell was strongest. A tiny movement at the corner of his eyes drew his attention. Something jittered in the snow a few feet to his right. Without hesitance he went towards it. He found a tectrix of estimated nine inch sticking in the white mass, its spire winking in the low breeze. He picked the feather up. So angels had been here. William!  
Without thinking he turned around and hurried back to where he came from.

~*~

As fast as he could he flew back to the small group, stopping for a moment when he was able to make out the forms of William, Isaak and Uriel. They appeared to be unharmed much to his relief. Becalmed he slowly descended, trying to process the possible danger. Would it be wisest to stay in public, assuming an attacker wouldn't dare to risk innocent lives? Or should they re-treat to Isaak's place?

When William glimpsed the demon in mid-air he acted on pure instinct. He jumped, got a hold of the slender wrist and pulled, causing Sitri to land rather unnice on the ground. Before Sitri could complain William, peering agitated left and right, leaned over him, whisper-shouting at him: "What the hell are you doing? Did you lose your mind, floating around when people could see you?!" For a short moment taken aback by the blonde's wrath Sitri simply stared at him with his clear blue eyes. But William's anger was fast to subside and bewilderment took over. "Anyway - where's Sean?" He let go of Sitri's arm, eyeing him quizzically.  
Sitri, who remembered the reason for his hasty comeback, gave the answer in a rushed voice while he came to his feet: "Approximately 3km from here, North-north-west, direct line." "What ... heh??"  
Now that reply rendered the realist speechless.  
As long as William was stuck processing Sitri's words Sitri went through his options. Telling Wil-liam about the danger at hand wouldn't be of any use considering his outgoing denial. Isaak would probably take him seriously. Yet, of what use would Isaak be? Telling Uriel was pointless as he belonged to the enemy's lines. For the first time in his life Sitri regretted not having Dan-talion or Camio by his side to discuss the situation with them. He was alone. He had to rely on his own strength this time.  
First things first: Appeasing William, getting away. Then collect the brat.  
His strategy set Sitri attached his usual calm mask, taking his time to rid his clothes off the snow the fall had left on them. When at peace with his appearance once again, he turned to William's expectant gaze, explaining: "Well, since the brat is this far gone and I obviously cannot pick him up and fly him back the short route I thought we'd go get him together. Elsehow you'd have to wait quite a long time and if I am not mistaken the market lies in that direction any-way."  
"That sounds ... logic.", William replied, still confused. Since when did Sitri take this much con-sideration? He was used to a far more short-sighted, cookie-munching, self-centred and indif-ferent Sitri.  
"This direction you said?", he further asked, pointing ahead.  
"Yes."

So they walked in silence, each captured in their own musings, William leading the way and oc-casional asking Sitri for directions, whose answers would be curt.  
For a reason yet unknown to him, Sitri's eyes were locked to the angel's back. Uriel's coat was-n't snow-covered anymore, by now the white powder had melted, leaving tiny droplets of water on the smooth surface. Something about the sight unsettled the white-haired demon, but what and why?

~*~

They found Sean forty minutes later in a bakery, laden with a dozen different bags.  
Geez, William noticed, that child had to have really rich parents.  
When he saw them he winked at them, oblivious that meanwhile it was around two hours over time.  
"Ah, I'm sorry! Think I got carried away. But just look at all those lovely treads and stuff!", he said when William hauled him over the coals.  
But Isaak was immensely relieved.


	7. Chapter 7

**07**

 

Michael sat in the great hall of his mansion, his chin resting on his folded hands, regarding a chess board that seemed to be abandoned in mid-play.  
The hall was immense and bright as a summer's day, though the walls were without any win-dow and the ceiling was so high one couldn't make it out at all. The floor was made of polished white marble, each footstep creating a distinct cluck-noise, each noise reverberating as a clear echo in the endless room, strong, dominating, powerful. Save for the pristine white wooden portal which embodied the only entry the walls were hung with maps of all kind. Maps of the world known by mankind, starting with ancient ink-scribbled groundplans of villages and cities, some of them abandoned, conquered or destroyed centuries ago, only living on in the memory of the immortals. Then there were structured blueprints of countries, the first map of the Euro-pean continent drawn by man, followed by ones of Asia and America. There were plans of Africa as old as the pharaohs next to freshly printed maps showing the whole planet, structured in longitudes and latitudes. Beneath the gigantic paper showing the geography of the whole plan-et stood a tall table showing a 3d-model of Europe, partitioned in equal squares. Here and there minuscule figurines were pinned into it, their colours a code for territorial amount of believers and sinners.  
In the middle of the room stood a much taller table bearing a resembling strategic map but of lands no human eye had ever seen: The map showed the territories of Heaven and Hell. There were tiny figurines stuck in the model as well. Only that those were either white or black and if someone took a closer look he'd find that each figure was a delicately carved portrayal of a de-mon or angel.  
In a small corner a modest little table was placed, added by the only chair provided: an old, cushioned armchair of bleached buckskin facing the whole of the hall, a position to overlook it all. It was the very armchair he currently sat in, only that it faced the wall now and in front of it the small desk. He sat there brooding over the chess field for quite a while now, having made neither movement nor sound.  
Finally he let his face fall, his forehead now resting on the back of his hands instead of the chin. No matter how he put it, he'd lose a piece.  
Lifting his head again, he sighed before picking up a white tower that stood cornered by a black horse and two black peasants. He examined it for a while, then let it drop to the ground, fol-lowed by another sigh. He knew Uriel wouldn't carry out his order, regardless how much he might fear the consequences. He would not hurt the Twining-boy.  
He heaved himself off the chair and strode toward the great map, almost blindly reaching for the figurine embodying the angel of repentance. Uriel had changed during his time in the hu-man realm. He started to harbour human feelings accompanied by the usual indecisive de-meanour mortals bore within them. How utterly disgusting.

The mere feelings a true angel was capable of were happiness, wrath, mercy and hate. They were creatures created to serve, servants to their Father, carrying out his orders, not question-ing his reason.  
When humanity savoured the forbidden apple they inherited a variety of emotions, a burden to their short lives. And as it seemed, that burden was contagious. Angels who spent too much time with man started to show symptoms of those emotions, began to scrutinise their Father's will and actions. Emotions and doubts brought with them a disorder he could not allow to exist in Heaven. There wasn't anything Michael despised as much as disorder.  
Once he thought banning those who fell victim from Heaven, taking their wings - the part of the angelic body that held the angel's magical power - sending them into exile and leave them weak and in shame could solve the problem. He even cast out his older brother. But those abominations had managed to gain new powers of a source that'd never falter: they drew their strength from human emotions, expressly of hate, lust, greed.  
That was his, Michael's, first grave mistake: To banish the erring ones instead of extinguishing them.

When those monsters started to increase their numbers by allowing humans into their ranks he had made the second one: Forwhy passion and desire were rare among angels they mated seldom and even when they did the birth-rate was low due to low fertility. They were meant to live an eternity, so of course there shouldn't have been any need for them to multiply. But that was way before half of them fell from grace, long before hundreds of them died in the never ending war between Good and Evil. Michael had sought those humans whose souls were pur-est, those who worshipped the Father with all of their heart, and had granted them wings, had welcomed them among his kin. Only to discover that even though they were cleared of all sen-timents and their own free will those former humans were fast to redevelop human minds. Worse, in the long run most of them went mad. The human mind was incapable of processing eternity. Heaven was in disorder again, the problem once more among their midst.  
Since he found out about it he became reluctant to exalt so-called saints to the status of angel.  
But now enough regret of the past!

He shook his head. He didn't have time to waste, he had to act as long as he was still able to.  
His gaze returned to the little Uriel in his hand.  
"Will you merely ignore my order", he asked those deaf marble ears, "or are you even capable of sabotage if it comes to your little William?"  
He slowly twiddled the figure, watching the play of light and shadow on the shiny surface. He stopped his motion when the idol's face was completely covered in shadow.  
“Better don’t take any risks.”  
He put the figurine to rest on the table’s sidebar, a strangely gentle movement for him. Then he scanned the field for another one, found it and tucked it out as well. The small embodiment of Raguel joined its master’s.

Having made up his mind Michael left the hall. After all, there were duties awaiting him. And plans waiting to be put into action.

~*~

Metatron watched Michael leave. When he was sure the old man was out of earshot he sneaked into his strategy-room, careful not to make any sound. Michael would explode should he ever found out.  
Hoping to fetch even the slightest hint his brown eyes wandered the chamber, fast in pinpoint-ing the abandoned statuettes next to the great map he used to brood over with Michael and other archangels back when they still had been close. May, what a nostalgic feeling, once again standing there.  
One look was enough to tell him all that he needed – that he wanted – to know. In a swift movement the figurines disappeared in his hand. Hopefully these were all he needed to finally take action.  
When he stole out of the room an enthusiastic smile kept lightning his features.  
Finally the time had come – the revolution could begin.


	8. Chapter 8

**08**

 

“Lametta! We need more Lametta!”, Sean chirped. “Of all colours!”

“When he’s finished the living-room will resemble carnival.”, William muttered to Kevin while they unpacked boxes full of Morton-household’s Christmas-decor.  
“Oh, but isn’t it wonderful? All those colours and glistening trimmings to celebrate the birthday of the Lord’s son!”  
Unnerving to William Kevin was completely in his element. The angel glittered and sparkled out of sheer cheerfulness. _Almost as if he was part of the decorations, William figured, If we put a few streaks of Lametta on him and one or two candles maybe he would be perfect substitute for the tree._  
Sean rushed between them, rummaging a box for additional tinsel. When he found what he looked for he bustled away with a stockpile of glistening metal filaments, leaving a track of small crumbs behind.  
“Don’t take all of it, leave some for the tree!”  
Kevin hurried past Sean, determined to safe some of the stuff for himself.

“Calm down, we have another carton full of flitter.”, Isaak barged in, holding the craved object in his arms. He was almost immediately tackled down by the combatants.  
“I take the red one!”, Sean’s voice sounded out of the ravel.  
Kevin was fast to complain: “There’s no way I’m putting green filament at a green tree!”  
“Uhm, guys? I wanted to adorn some to my roo-“, Isaak attempted to plead but was cut off by both the grown man and the child at once: “Take pink!”  
William could imagine the tears forming in Isaak’s eye corners when the boy whined: “But I don’t want pink!”

 _This_ , William concluded, _must be how a madhouse looks like on the inside._

“I wonder why nobody likes pink?”  
Sitri invited himself to sit down next to William, a plate of cinnamon stars in his lap. William sneaked one.  
“Well, I wonder if there’s a remedy for them.”, William threw in.  
“Sean and Isaak are kids. They’ll eventually grow up some day.”, Sitri answered the more rhe-torical question. “As for Uriel ... Don’t blame him. Most angels get a little overexcited over reli-gious holidays.”  
William turned his head. “Why aren’t you- Wait, what a sight is that?”  
Christmas orbs dangled off the demon’s ears, his hair was spiked with stars of straw and mistle-toe.  
“Sean.” was the plain answer.

Somehow – William was honestly surprised – the company managed to get the house decorat-ed that evening. Poor Isaak had had to content himself with the pink Lametta, while Uriel through brute force saved some of the red for the Christmas tree he had busied himself with and Sean had rushed off with the rest to put it everywhere. Literally everywhere.  
Unexpected as it was William had to admit that he liked the decorations. The whole mansion looked lively and warm (and a bit like a kindergarden, but never mind). And the smell ... Oh, the smell was wonderful.

“It’s the first time the staff didn’t get to do the deco. I hope they aren’t disappointed.”, Isaak mused. He and William sat in his bedroom, enjoying a cup of coffee together.  
“But then again ... Our house got decorated by a true angel! Imagine that!”  
The blonde smiled in his cup. “It’s special for sure.”

Down the corridor that certain angel stared at a door with an expression of scepticism. It was blasphemy. It was unwise. It was one step further to the loss of his last wing. It was one of the few options he had.  
Before he could come to his senses Uriel reached for the handle. He didn’t bother to knock – curtesy wasn’t necessary if demons were involved. He opened the door, stepped inside and closed it behind himself, leaning against it. His gaze was trained at the floor.  
“Say I reconsidered your request”, he said between gritted teeth, stiffly, unwillingly, “What ex-actly would the terms be?”  
He waited for the answer quite a while until he lifted his head, begrudged. Only to find that Sitri wasn’t there. Incredulous he stepped into the middle of the room. Where was that damned bishie? He should have been in his room. He wasn’t with William, Uriel had checked on that. He couldn’t be in hell either. The angel would have felt the gate opening. So where. was. that. irri-tating. demon?!  
He snorted. A demon needn’t even to be present to get on his nerves.  
Yet his anger didn’t get the chance to last long for a high pitched giggle infiltrated his ears. The door swung open. A small hand lay on the handle, its owner leaning casual against the outer side of the door, a devious grin on thin lips, normally brown eyes gleaming dangerously red. In this moment Sean looked every ounce like a devil. He spoke while he let the door fall shut: “How interesting. That just sounded as if you were about to form a pact with a demon.”  
The terror in Uriel’s eyes left no doubt.  
The boy gave a noise of inconvenience. “So you already know, huh? And I was so much looking forward to deliver the news.” He pulled something out of his trousers’ pocket and hauled it at the fellow angel who caught the object on reflex. “This way it isn’t fun!”, Sean complained fur-ther. In antagonism to his devious appearance the boy started to pout. “Who told you?”

Uriel, meanwhile, spared the received object a look. Clueless he stared at himself – or rather the miniature double of himself – in his hand. Something about that delicately carved marble accessory felt familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  
Sean noticed his furrowed brows. _So maybe he doesn’t know yet, I jumped to conclusions too fast._  
He approached Uriel on silent feet, bended forward to look directly in the taller man’s eyes from below, a knowing grin on his lips.  
“You don’t recognize it?”  
Uriel shot him a disgruntled look. _Just spit it out_ his mimic seemed to demand. _Stop fooling with me_.  
However, Metatron loved to play.  
“You should have seen this occasionally”, the boyish voice went on, “when you were his most beloved toy.” He took a dramatic pause. “Of course this was more than two thousand years ago – geez, I cannot even imagine how old you must be by now. But then, no wonder.”  
Now Uriel was completely perplexed. Following Metatron’s thoughts was harder than usual.

“Don’t worry. It’s normal for old people to forget about things.”

 _What?!_ He thought he couldn’t believe his ears. Did Metatron call him senile just now? Anger flared through his veins. _He dares to make fun of me?!_ Uriel could have burnt his superior right then and there. Luckily he remembered he mustn’t.

“Shall I give you a hint?”  
Sean’s innocent voice insulted Uriel further.  
“Recall the strategy-room?”

Calculating, cold brown eyes observed dark blue ones widen in awareness.

 _It can’t be!_ Uriel thought, _He gave me time ‘til the 27th! There is no way he damned me already._ But just as those thoughts crossed his mind, his heart told him it had to be true. Michael knew him well. Something within his chest contracted painfully. Michael knew Uriel would betray him long before Uriel himself knew. And Michael wasn’t one to go unprepared.  
There were no words to describe how the angel felt at that moment of recognition. He didn’t even know if he felt anything. The world suddenly became so numb. Strangely his head felt clear for the first time for years.  
He faced the as child disguised Archangel standing in front of him. His voice lacked any emotion when he spoke.  
“Then you are here to tell me of my judgement.”  
Metatron did not say anything, but he looked satisfied.  
Uriel averted his gaze, rounded the child and went for the door.  
Metatron stopped him: “There’s still a way to safe your precious William.”  
“...”  
“Join forces with me.”  
Finally Metatron abandoned his disguise, standing in the middle of the room in his full glory, wings folded at his back.  
Uriel turned to him.

“Tell me what you’re planning.”


	9. Chapter 9

**09**

 

Sitri sat on the couch, bored and without appetite.  
It was the day of Christmas Eve. All preparations were done, all presents were packed, every-body was in high spirits. Well, everybody save him it seemed. Sitri couldn’t help to feel grumpy. He wasn’t making progress with Uriel at all. That stubborn angel ruined his plans! As lucky as he was to be with William without Dantalion or Camio interfering – unnecessary to mention he took every opportunity to convince William of his qualities – no significant advantage could be won as long as he wasn’t strong enough to stand his ground against those two.  
He had tried patience, small reminders here and there and pursuing the matter permanently to push Uriel to a decision. None worked. What else could he try to persuade Mister Stubborn-ness? Seduction? Absolutely not working with an honourable angel of presence.  
Blackmail? He’d be dead for sure.  
Corruption? That might work if only he had any idea what Uriel liked aside from strict rules, pun-ishment and torture. Maybe he could promise him a demon to torture ad libitum?

He pushed aside the tin of delicious bakery that rested next to him on the cosy seat and stood up. Neither scheming nor diplomacy were his strengths. If possible he preferred to solve things directly. Well, if possible ...  
Deciding it was probably best to return to his room until the rest returned from church he started to climb the stairs.

In his room he slumped lazily on the bed, trying to figure out what to spend the remaining time with as he stared at the ceiling. One of his hands stole under the pillow, pulling forth the feather he collected some days ago. He held it in front of his eyes, twirling it between two fingers, mar-velling at its modest beauty. It was masochism to keep it, still he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. He brought it down to his nose, closed his eyes and breathed in deeply the scent that reminded him of endless skies and flower fields, of laughter, the face of Gabrielle, his dear mother Gabrielle ... Then the pain returned. He'd never see her again. He'd never be free again. He'd never laugh carefree like that again. _Stop it!_ , he ordered himself briskly. _Do not think of the lost, you fool! Don't be weak!_ He wanted to toss the feather away along with all his memories, but he simply couldn't. Instead he lifted the thing from his face and gently nudged it back be-neath his pillow to hide it from everyone's eyes.  
Now he felt up for some sugar! ... Which he left down in the living room. _Seriously?!_ Gosh, he had to really be upset to go without his cookies! But lucky for him all humans had left the man-sion. So he performed an easy summoning spell. Then he was on his feet again, strolling over and opening his door to greet the treats which came flown up from the other room.  
He gripped the tin out of the air and immediately dived for a biscuit when his eyes caught something. Slowly he drew back his right foot, clearing the vision of a shiny white envelope he had been standing on.

He hadn't noticed it before.  
A tiny flicker of his hand caused the paper to jump right into his hand, another one made the envelope slice itself open and release a small piece of paper. Only two neatly written inky words tainted the perfectly white surface:

_I accept._

The hollow metallic sound of the cookie-tin crashing onto the parquet reverberated in the si-lence.

~*~

Uriel didn't listen to the pastor at all. He sat there, his hands folded around a simple wooden cross he wore around his neck, and prayed, his eyes semi-closed, to the lord. He begged for forgiveness as well as for his plans to be successful. He tried to explain why he had to do what he was about to do, hoping God would understand. He asked for protection for William, who held the soul of a man HE had once chosen to bless with HIS love more than others. Even if he did not believe in God and was anything but virtuous, William had a good heart. _Protect him, please. Protect him._

Next to him William didn't listen either, but watched his steward in astonishment. He had never seen him pray before. It was fascinating to him to see those heavy-lidded, absent eyes, the gently bent head, these hands tightly holding the rosary, the cross' head lightly touching his forehead and those pale lips moving occasionally in accordance to his thoughts. Behind Uriel sat Sean, as well praying, but differently so, with his hands folded at chest-height and a relaxed smile on his face. Isaak stared at the angel as well. His eyes glittered as usual when regarding something supernatural. William rolled his eyes. In the back of his consciousness he heard the pastor's monotonous mumbling cease for a moment, then everyone around him rose and be-gan to sing.  
_Oh shit!_ He jumped up quickly, moving his lips to pretend he was singing as well while browsing vividly through his book to find the according page. Sean and Isaak were up as well, just Uriel seemed to not have noticed the call.  
"Shhh, Isaak!", William bent over Uriel to whisper to Isaak, "Which page is it?"  
Isaak merely shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I just hum along. Hope this'll do?"  
"How could you miss the announcement? You need to concentrate harder!", William lectured his friend, who directly shot back: "Eh? But you haven't paid attention as well!"  
"That's different!"  
Sean, who sang along loud and seemingly happy, paused to help: "It's 523, master."

When the boys were safely occupied reading the song's text, the kid bent over, putting his arms loosely around Uriel's neck.  
"Don't want to sing to our Father's praise?", he whispered in the other angel's ear.

Uriel was visibly startled.  
"That deep in prayer?", Sean questioned, tightening his hug. "Don't tell me you're worried!"  
"It's Michael after all.", the angel of repentance answered with a frown.  
However, Metatron couldn't worry less. "It will work out, you'll see."  
With this he retreated and reassumed his singing.

 _Just how can you be so carefree, Metatron?_ , Uriel wanted to ask. _Why aren't you afraid to lose?_  
It was far beyond him how the other managed to always be smiling, to always stay positive about each and everything. As far as he could remember, the archangel had ever been like that. Maybe that never-concerned attitude was what attracted Michael at first?  
He thought of Raphael. In his case Michael gave up complaining about his infatuation and opti-mism long ago. But Metatron was different. More calculating and calm. And maybe that made him a lot more dangerous.

When the singing was over the lot sank back to their seats, listening to the last speech of this mass before finally parting. The small group made its way to the entrance portal alongside the masses. But shortly before they left the building Uriel took William's arm, holding him back.  
"Young master, please take this."  
He removed his pendant with the small wooden crucifix and tied it around the blonde's neck, who looked at it bewildered.  
"Kevin, wha-"  
The angel lifted a hand to the young man's forehead, drawing a cross on it with his index finger, mumbling: "May you be blessed and protected by his infinite love."  
William blinked, unsure how to react. When his butler removed his hand the boy managed a crooked smile.  
"You act weird these days."

A strange silence dwelled between the four on their way home, each lost in his own musings.  
William kept wondering about his steward, Metatron figured the day of his victory over the high-est of all angels, Uriel worried about the days ahead and Isaak debated if the presents he chose were adequate.

Sitri greeted them at the front door, flashing them a radiant smile.  
"How was mass?"  
"Boring as usual.", William muttered, slipping past the demon. He was eager to get into the warmth. Sitri followed, asking: "If you don't like it, why do you go there at all?" "Societal obliga-tion."  
Behind the two Uriel gave a deep sigh of resentment. Sean laughed as usual.  
"Young master, you really ought to reconsider your attitude towards believing.", Uriel repri-manded.  
"I'll start believing in God when I get solid proof of his existence."  
Uriel shook his head. "That's not quite the idea behind it." But his lips were bent in a small smile. It seemed they were back to normal for now, much to William's relief.  
Catching up on the good mood, Sean exclaimed: "Time for the afternoon tea!" and stormed into the living room, dragging Isaak along. "I've been starving!"  
"That child... Honestly!" William scolded but still had to grin. "There's nothing but sugar on his mind. I wonder if he will stay like that when he grows up?"  
"I bet he does.", the butler went along. "40 Pounds. What do you say, young master?"  
"Kevin!!"  
They both broke into laughter.  
William was the first to recover. "Come on, let's go join them before there's no cake left for us."  
Uriel followed him to the door but dawdled on intent. The moment William was out of hearing range he spoke in a low tone: "I guess you've read the letter by now. You've got my word. But there is a condition."  
Sitri, who had waited in the back of the room, came closer.


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

 

Metatron lay in the bed provided by Isaak for his guest. He had his arms folded behind his head and wiggled his feed. A broad smile played upon his lips. One day. Not even 24 hours parted him from his goal. He felt an overwhelming joy with each of his heartbeats.  
Everything was set, the trap was prepared. His comrades knew their part. All he needed to do now was to wait until everything fell into place. Until then he was free to enjoy his free time.  
His head fell to one side, watching the sun beginning its rise through the window. His smile widened. _Time to begin the final act!_

In a fluid motion he literally jumped out of bed, landing on his feet like an athlete, and drew a deep breath.

~*~

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”  
William groaned. Sean’s booming voice ripped him out of his sleep far too early for his taste. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, blocking out the increasing light and covered his ears with his pillow. The boy hurried through the corridor with loud steps, exclaiming over and over again which day it was.

William pressed the pillow to his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the voice and go back to sleep.  
But there was no helping it.  
The door to his room flew open and Sean swept in, jumping directly onto his senpai's bed, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him awake.  
"Master~!! It's Christmas day! Get up! It's time to exchange presents!"

Poor William groaned. His butler, the second inhabitant of the room, stood by the window - his usual position during the night - plainly ignoring the farce. If Metatron wanted to play brat a little more he should have his will. At least it provided some distraction.  
"MASTER!", the small boy insisted, getting off the bed and pulling at the covers. "Get up al-ready!"  
Uriel rolled his eyes. _Overacting as usual._ But then again ... If the being behind his back was a real child Uriel might have considered it cute behaviour. Maybe.  
Having William stripped off the covers lacking the intended effect Sean tried snatching away the pillow the blonde still clamped. William knew that it was over and gave in with a loud sigh.  
"Alright alright! Give me five minutes to dress."  
"Yippie!", Sean jubilated and trampled out of the room.  
William could hear the fading slump-noises and the slamming of another door. Looked like Sean was going to wake them all like that.

"Couldn't you shush him out?", he mumbled into the mattress.  
Still Uriel heard it and answered: "I could." But he gave no indication as to why he did not. Wil-liam growled. Sometimes Kevin was so ... htgsarjmbndjh! His humour wasn't funny at all.  
The blonde adolescent sat up. He ran his fingers through his meddled hair and tried to blink away the sleepiness. His butler came over to him, flashing him a gentle smile. "Good morning, young Master."  
"Morning.", William yawned.

"Five minutes are almost over!"  
Sean ran past the open door towards the staircase.

~*~

Approximately ten minutes later all five assembled in the living room. William and Isaak still were half asleep. The others looked fresh and fit since they did not need to sleep.  
Sean danced around the Christmas tree. Isaak had tried to convince the boy that they would breakfast first and then hand over their presents, but he had played he trump card. As Sean's eyes grew wet with lingering tears Isaak folded immediately. So they sat there, tired and yawn-ing, with no caffeine to wake their senses.

"Okay then, let's begin.", Isaak said. "We're all here."  
Of course Sean was the quickest to fetch his things. "I'm first!"  
He hurried over to William, offering him a dark blue package adorned with billions of coloured ties. William took it and set off to undo the knots when suddenly silver scissors blocked his view.  
"I assumed we'd need this.", Uriel, who was holding the item out for him, explained. With a court nod William took it and cut through the different strings, all time watched by Sean's ex-pectant eyes. The package bore a porcelain cup of white and light blue.  
"You can use this when we drink tea together.", the boy declared. "It's perfect for you, look!"  
He pointed at the opposite side than the one William was currently admiring, causing him to turn it around. He found a comic-figure painted on it. It was practically a brain with legs and a stupid looking smiley-face giving a thumps-up. Beside it one could read 'Study hard, get an award'.  
_What a waste of material_ , William thought as he regarded it. This cup qualified for the best ex-amples of bad taste he had ever seen. He looked up and into Sean's shining questioning eyes and faked a smile.  
"Well ... thank you very much, Sean! It's ... unique."  
Sean squeaked. "I'm so happy you like it! I have one for you, too!" He handed similar cartons to Sitri and Isaak.  
Sitri's cup was rosé with a pink butterfly on it, Isaak's was a mint-green one featuring a clown. Almost simultaneously they read the advice on their cups aloud:  
"Beautiful women get beautiful husbands." "You don't need to look good as long as you have humour."  
Both stared at their gifts in silence, unsure what to make of it.  
William addressed Sean: "You do know Sitri is male, do you?"  
The boy answered with a hilarious sincerity: "Sure! But he looks like a girl."  
"Can take the form of a handsome man or beautiful woman if the summoner wishes for it. Looks very much alike in both his male and female forms.", Isaak muttered a quote out of one of his demonology-books.  
Sean tilted his head, looking quizzically at the redhead. William intervened: "He's talking about that costume-weirdness. Do not think of it, just ignore!"  
The last thing he needed was his fag roaming the school grounds telling everyone that he and his best friend believed in unscientific nonsense. Or worse - Sean sharing Isaak's obsession.  
"I'd still marry him."

There was a moment of silence as everyone's minds went blank for a second by the boy's statement. It was Uriel who reprimanded the child this time: "You cannot marry another man. The church doesn't allow homosexuality." He spoke those words with a sharpness that sur-prised William and Isaak who only knew the friendly version of Uriel so far.  
Sean, however, wasn't affected at all. Light-heartedly as if speaking of the weather he men-tioned: "It didn't always. There once was an angel in charge of bodily love, lust and homosexuality. An Elohite if I recall it correctly? In service to Cupido?"  
"He is a Grigori now.", the brunette man hissed.  
Again William wondered about the weird things his charge knew. _Maybe his family is deeply reli-gious?_ He noticed Sitri stiffening and a thought stroke him: Had Sitri been the aforementioned angel?  
He turned to Uriel: "You said this angel's name was Gregory?"  
Sean shook his head. "No, he said he was a Grigori. It's a class of angels such as Cherub or Ser-aph. They were the angels with the closest proximity to humans. But they all fell a long time ago because God was angry with them. Some of them mated with humans. The conceived chil-dren were the reason for the great flood. To end their existence many humans had to die.” A sad expression contorted his face for the briefest of moments. In an instant it was back to normal and he went on: “Angels nowadays tend to use the term ‘Grigori’ for the fallen ones in general. The angel we are talking about was born as Elohite. The Elohim are powerful angels of creation and in control of nature and emotions. Though not as powerful as the Cherubim or the Seraphim."  
"Why do you know such stuff?" The question escaped William before he could help it. If William considered the familiarity with which the boy talked about angels and the unnatural extend of knowledge it heinously sounded like ...  
“Sean? Do you know any angels?”, he voiced his dread.  
“All of them.” The boy flashed him a radiant smile.  
The retort extinguished William’s fears. To him it seemed the dark haired boy got him wrong, his answer meaning that he was familiar with all their names and maybe religious background. Certainly, if he knew any personal, he’d have blurted it out directly. He couldn’t know that Sean spoke the absolute truth.

“Nevertheless it is unnatural and unholy!”, Uriel got back to the topic. There was no doubt to William that as an angel his butler was strictly preaching the one-man-one-female-rule. It was perfectly logical for him to be prudish. Still it was a child he was intimidating.  
The blonde teenager placed a hand on his butler’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. “Come on, Kevin, let it go. He’s just a little boy. He’s not talking seriously.”

Sean summoned his most innocent children-smile and mused: "Maybe uncle is simply too old to change his dusty believes."  
"Wha-" To say Uriel was exasperated would be an understatement. "Who do you call old?!"  
"Well, definitely much older than me. Indeed you had been old already when I was born."  
"YOU LITTLE -"  
"Kevin!!"  
Now William was holding one of his steward's arms in a firm grip. Honestly, what did Sean think? Was that boy suicidal? Uriel looked like a cobra attempting to strike and the youngster grinned like this was all just a game. _But of course he isn't aware of the danger_ , William realised, _He can't know that Kevin could pulverize him within seconds._ Not too long ago he himself had not known.  
Fortunately the angel was quick to catch himself. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply twice, opened them and was again the calm entity William was familiar with. Sean watched him, mis-chief glinting in his eyes.  
"It's even said that that angel was a child of Gabriel. That'd make the angel of desire and homo-sexuality one of the higher-ranking. The church cannot ignore that fact forever."  
Uriel only bit his lip. He did not say anything. What could he have said anyways? To say that he fell due to his unholy ambitions would be a lie. To say that that angel was now where he be-longed, a damn devil as he should have been from the start, would ruin his plans. He would not take the risk of Sitri abandoning their deal by insulting him.

William shot a glance towards Sitri and found him staring at the child in concern. He definitely had to ask him later if he was the subject of that discussion.  
"Do I look that bad?", suddenly Isaak whined loudly, still brooding over his gift-cup.

Some assurances and encouraging pats on the shoulder later they managed to go on with their gift-round. Isaak was next in row to deliver his presents. Not wasting time he immediately passed William a small box containing a bronze amulet. Lifting it with two fingers he let it dangle in front of his eyes. _Isaak gifts me jewellery? Am I a girl or what? Plus that's quite ugly jewellery._ He looked at his friend, an eyebrow raised. Isaak's face enlightened and with glory he declared: "This is a talisman to protect you from evil! I thought since you always insist that you're un-nerved by the pillars and such ... It contains mighty spells that drive even Satan away!"  
When he was ended his cheeks shone red from agitation. His enthusiasm was mirrored by Wil-liam's unbelieving demeanour. That was why he added an "I'm hundred percent sure it works!" causing William to throw the artefact at Sitri who caught it before it hit his face. He too glanced at the amulet. "This thing is really ugly.", he commented, then tossed it away.  
"Hundred percent, heh?", William teased the red haired boy.  
"He does feel appalled by it!", Isaak defended his present.  
"Who wouldn't?" he got for an answer.  
Sean almost cried with laughter and even Uriel had to supress a grin.  
"Young master, you should thank your friend. I find the gift very considerate."  
William sighed, but smiled. "Thanks, Isaak." Isaak returned his smile.

For Sean he had bought a pile of comics, which the boy happily filed through as soon as he laid hands on it, and to Sitri he handed a bag of muffins. After that he glanced shyly at Uriel. "I've got something for you as well, Mr. Cecil."  
The man blinked in surprise when Isaak handed him a small package containing a leather-bound notebook. He opened it. The pages were filled with handwritten texts. While he read one the teenager explained: "It belonged to my grandmother. When she was young she wrote religious song texts as a hobby. Her dream was that someday her chants will be sung during mass but she never mustered the courage to actually propose them to a priest." His face glittered again. "And imagine just how cool it would be if a true angel sang a song of hers!"  
Uriel couldn't help but smile.  
Sean, his curiosity urging him to put aside his new lecture, peaked over the man's shoulder at the book. "There are no notes.", he noticed.  
"Uhm, well, yeah ... I guess she wasn't good at compositing melodies?", Isaak said.  
William joined in: "What use is a song text without melody?"  
Isaak blushed, clearly ashamed he hadn't considered this, but little Sean sprung to his help: "My brother could have a look at it. He's a composer."  
The boys stared at him. "You've got a brother who already has a job? How old is he?"  
Sean considered their question for a moment before shrugging it of with a "Not as old as your butler." which made Uriel's face contort in annoyance again.

Next in row would have been Sitri, but he explained that demons were practically forbidden to celebrate Christmas and that he for that reason would not provide any gifts. So William took his turn now. According to etiquette he first dealt with his host. He pulled a paper out of his pocket and held it out for Isaak to take and read. Since he did not have much money to spend he took advantage of his friend's fondness for supernatural things and wrote a coupon in his most ap-propriate handwriting saying he may choose one of Solomon's pillars as his private servant for a day. As he had hoped Isaak was absolutely happy, immediately beginning to go through the many possibilities. After that he tended to Sean, giving him a heavy book of Latin vocabulary. He'd need it in upper classes and for William only a useful present was a good present. Now he looked at Kevin and became nervous. Till the last moment he had been clueless as to what to please his angel-butler with and found he didn't know anything about him. What he thought he knew was all related to the real Kevin Cecil, his favourite food, interests, family story. Now that he was aware of his Kevin not being Kevin Cecil he tried to rampage his brains for information but all he had was his gambling-fancy. And without question he could and would not support something as gambling. In an attempt to earn some information he paid the local library a visit. There was literature describing the archangel Uriel but it did not serve his purpose. Damn it, he even went to a church and asked the pastor what present would be best for an angel - one of the most embarrassing talks he had in his life and fruitless on top. Still he was without ideas and now here he sat, facing Kevin's always gentle face with bare hands.

"Oh, is it my turn now?", Uriel mistook William's intense glare. Before the blonde could correct him he already held the book in his hands. He read he title. Kevin hit the score perfectly as al-ways. This book was very useful indeed. He bit his lower lip. What should he do? Apart from expressing his thanks?  
When his silence endured too long Uriel asked worriedly: "Don't you like it?"  
_If only that was the case._  
He had to confess that he wasn't familiar enough with the man who raised him to buy him a Christmas present. Was there a way to do it without hurting Kevin? Doubtful.  
William opened his mouth to tell him the truth when unexpectedly Uriel laid a hand on his.  
“It’s alright, young master.”  
His voice was full of warmth and understanding, as if the angel had sensed his master’s dilem-ma. Their eyes met. And William understood that it was really okay.

~*~

Half of the day was over. The group had made themselves comfortable in the living-room. While exchanging some small talk each busied himself with his presents. Sean read his comics, Isaak studied Solomon’s lesser key to decide which demon he wanted to meet, Uriel flapped through the notebook Isaak gave him, William too read in his book and Sitri devoured the chanceless muffins.  
After a while Sitri stood up and stretched. He then addressed William and Isaak: “I almost for-got: There’s something in my room I wanted to show you two.”  
The white-haired demon turned and started towards his room. William and Isaak exchanged confused looks before they set aside their books and followed him. Uriel watched them go. Out of his eye’s corner he glanced at Sean, who ignored them, all caught up in his read.

“What is it you want to show us?”, Isaak enquired. Sitri just smiled cryptically.  
When they reached the door to his room he opened it, stepped aside and implied a small bow.  
“After you.”  
William raised an eyebrow but decided not to comment. Everybody seemed to behave a little strange around Christmas. _I bet he got us some presents after all. Those demons never let an op-portunity for a bribe slip_ , the blonde told himself, _And he’s hiding it from Kevin’s eyes due to this demons-mustn’t-celebrate-Christmas-rule._  
He stepped through the door, Isaak behind him. But the sight he met was not the one of Mor-ton house’s guest-rooms. He found himself in hell. Immediately angry he turned on his heel to confront Sitri who stood behind them, smiling innocently.  
The door back to the human realm had vanished.


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

 

“They’re gone.”, Uriel uttered as he descended the steps.  
Right after the angels felt the portal to hell open he rushed upward but found the little group had already vanished. Metatron had stayed down in the living room.

“Strange.”, was all the as kid disguised angel had to say about the matter at hand.  
Uriel nodded. He sat down again, but did not resume reading. Sean looked at him. “You’re wor-ried? Hm ... Look at it that way: At least William is out of Michael’s reach for the time being. Plus it spares us the problem of keeping the boys safe while fighting him.”  
Uriel nodded again.  
Sean laughed. “Relax a little. We still have plenty of time to kill.”

~*~

“Are you kidding me?!”  
William was exasperated. The fact that Sitri encountered him with the sweetest of smiles did not help to calm him down.  
“Why did you bring us here? This is kidnapping! God damn, Sitri! I thought we were over this a long time ago!”  
“Better don’t talk about God in this place.”, the demon answered calmly. He walked some steps past the boys into the open landscape. They were at something like a park. The darker, sparser version of a park to which tended a gardener who clearly had no green thumb. Most of the plants were withering or dried and the soil was cracked. Sitri stepped at a path leading deeper into the dead expanse, then stopped and turned around to face them again.  
“I was sick of all that Christmas-atmosphere. Let’s walk for a bit and get some rest from this farce.”  
Isaak instantly followed him. "We're going to see more of hell? This Christmas is perfect!" Wil-liam would never understand the magic that desolate place held for his friend. He, however, did not intend to stay. Mustering his most authoritative expression - or what he hoped to be it - he ordered: "Fine, you've made your point. You can go walking as much as you please - but before you do so, open the path back to earth for us!"  
"No." The white-haired demon returned to his side and leaned against his shoulder. "I want to have you to myself for a moment~" William glared at him. "To do what?"  
Sitri blinked at him. "To get to know each other better, of course." William snorted.  
But before he could say anything Isaak pulled at his sleeve, giving him a brown puppy-eyes look. "Can't we stay for a little while?", he asked, "We do get the chance to explore hell's territo-ry here! Didn't you say you wanted to know more about it as well? Why not now?"  
Why not now? Because it was Christmas? Because Kevin would worry where he went? Because Sitri hijacked them and his principles urged him not to let the demon get through with it? Be-cause awful things happened whenever he visited hell?  
His lips parted to voice all those reasons to leave momentarily but closed again. It was Christ-mas after all and Isaak would be happy beyond repair if he let him stay a little longer.

~*~

In Heaven a certain white-blonde angel sat in his armchair, one leg pulled close to his thorax, one arm resting on the knee. His gaze lost itself in space. He wasn’t looking at anything in par-ticular.  
_Scarcely more than five hours._  
It was the first day of Christmas. The ultimatum he gave Uriel was running out. The angel did not yet appear with the soul Michael craved. Maybe he’d come within the next minutes?  
He interlaced the fingers of his hands, creating a circle in which he dumped his head. He hated waiting.

~*~

On earth Uriel, too, was waiting nervously. His eyes were locked to the clock hanging above the chimney. Time went by so horribly slow when people were anticipating something. At the same time Uriel would have given almost anything to draw out the remaining hours. If only what was to come could be avoided.

~*~

Three hours to go.  
The knuckles of Michael’s hands stood out white. He kept clenching his fists. Uriel sure was late.  
_If Solomon fought back?_

~*~

Restlessness started to plague Metatron. In his human disguise he kept jumping up and down in a small work-out to let off some energy. He had not felt this excited for a long, long time. Tomorrow his wish would come true. The wish he harboured for decades.  
“You should warm up too!”, he advised.  
Uriel kept staring at the clock.

~*~

A dry laughter escaped his throat as he slumped back in his seat. The mere thought of Solo-mon harming Uriel was hilarious! Solomon’s powers may have been given by God, but the hu-man held no power that could match an angel’s. His brain just tempted him by providing ex-cuses for his servant’s absence. Because Michael hoped he’d still appear, hand over Solomon’s soul, bow before him and swear his loyalty again.  
The great archangel knew Uriel would not accomplish the order. Yet, when he did not show up to beg for more time hope stirred within Michael’s chest.

Hope. That damn bastard made him HOPE!

The beautiful young man jumped up, kicking his chair in the process with a force that sent the object flying through the room. It crashed down several feet away.  
Michael felt humiliated. A part of his heart still trusted the former angel of repentance. It made him really angry.

Michael had learned to mistrust others the hard way.  
In the beginning his older brother dealt with heaven’s politics. He had been content with his status as leader of the troops. He and Lucifer had had a deep bond. They’d shared their thoughts and worries. They’d been there for one another. But one day Lucifer betrayed him and Michael had shut his wounded heart, being left without his dearest person and with a new posi-tion and increased responsibilities.

Since the first days, when he had been young and inexperienced, Uriel had been there, follow-ing his every order without hesitation. There had been Raphael to give advice should need be, Gabriel as his messenger with the human realm, Raguel to debate justice with, Sariel to care for the souls of the dead, Uriel carrying out punishments according to Michael’s rules to keep hu-manity in line and Ramiel to award those humans who lived in conformity with the rules. Michael had called them his loyal friends. Together the seven of them had been the first archangels created by God, bestowed with the task to rule over heaven and earth. In their presence Mi-chael was able to overcome the loss of his twin brother. Because he could rely on them he managed to accustom himself into his new position as lead-angel. But his base of self-confidence soon began to crumble.

When the first angels of human heritage consorted with them and it became possible to earn the rank of archangel corruption and power struggles spread among the winged creatures. Suddenly he had to ask himself if his advisors might have ulterior motives. One after one he lost his trusted companions: Gabriel isolated herself after losing her beloved child. Uriel got somehow bewitched by Solomon and thus started acting unpredictably. Raguel who had always been very close with Uriel could not be regarded as trustworthy any longer in accordance. Sariel and Ramiel struggled to keep their ranks. Just Raphael was left. But Michael wouldn’t wait for him to prove otherwise. He long ago decided not to confide in anyone anymore. The problem was that he no longer could dare to rest if he wished to stay in his position, meaning his time to set things right was limited.

First Uriel would pay. Then he would take care of Solomon’s vessel. Once he had him he could tend to the real issue.

~*~

At Morton-house the first chime heralded midnight.


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

 

Michael appeared a heartbeat after the last chime ebbed away. For a moment the gleaming figure hovered motionless in front of the fireplace, cold, emotionless eyes piercing the one in front of him. Uriel stood silently, returning Michael's gaze. Guild was apparent in his dark blue eyes. If someone would have dared to accuse the Seraph of treason he'd have killed him for it. Never did Uriel think he'd betray his once friend and ally. Though, here he stood.

"Don't give me that look!", Michael hissed angrily. He lowered himself to the wooden floor, then inhaled deeply and let the breath escape his lungs slowly. After that the cold had vanished, giv-ing room to a forced easy smile.  
"So, Uriel", he said, trying to behave as normal as possible, though Uriel could tell he was mak-ing an effort, "I'm quite certain you know which day we have?" The dark-haired angel averted his gaze. Michael bit his lip. Uriel's all too revealing behaviour made his blood boil with rage. He should adhere to his treachery! If he chose to take his punishment he should do so with full conviction, not with feelings of guilt and sorrow. _Why did you select a path you're not happy with? Why?_  
He was unable to understand how people could be torn like that between two options, how they could pick one and not be happy with it. He always knew what he wanted. And he sneered at those who didn't. J _ust look at you - at what he made of you! Before you met him you were like me. You're not yourself anymore. You are no angel anymore._

"I asked something of you."  
It was more a command than anything else. The white-blonde's posture returned to cold and farouche, his voice like honed iron.  
"Where is he?"

"He isn't here.", was all Uriel returned. For the moment William was safe and Uriel was glad for it.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “You cannot hide him from me. You know as much. I will get him anyway. With or without your assistance.” He longed to ask if the other preferred the human over him, wanted to hear him voice it and then never wanted to hear it. It shook his pride. It shook his heart. It stirred human feelings in him. _Unforgivable._  
He made a step in Uriel’s direction and raised his hands, one facing the other in a distance of ten centimetres. A golden light began to shimmer between the palms. Uriel watched him cau-tiously.  
“Maybe you should rest.”, he proposed in a last attempt to prevent the unpreventable.  
The light faded. “Excuse me?!” Michael stared at him, caught off-guard.  
“It’s been a long time since you allowed yourself to recover. Your strength is fading. You should sleep.”, the dark-haired man repeated.  
Michael’s voice was hardly audible. “You dare ...”

He lunged forward, seized the rim of Uriel’s coat and pulled him down to be face to face with him.  
“I should cut your tongue for daring to call me weak! Especially you, who lost half of his powers along with his left wing!”  
The hand of the smaller angel that held the cloth was covered by Uriel’s bigger one.  
“Please, Michael. Take a rest.”, he pleaded with an intense gaze into the red eyes, his hand squeezing the archangel’s.  
Michael should have killed him instantly for speaking those words. He should have beheaded him. He should have put his hands around his throat, strangling the breath out of him with which he spoke the assault. But somehow he was unable to react that moment. The way Uriel looked at him unsettled him. There was no offence. It was a plea. As if the angel was worried about his well-being. In his irritation all he managed was a dry laughter and a “You fool! To think I’d take your advice...!”  
In reaction Uriel shut his eyes. His hand released Michael’s. When his eyes opened again all pleading and softness were gone. The old Uriel was facing his master now, emotionless and set. His wing materialized at his back, unfolding in a threatening manner. He brushed the small-er one’s hand off him, took a few feet backwards and announced: “Then you leave me no choice.”

A single guiding move of his arm was all it needed to send a bunch of gleaming spears in Mi-chael’s direction. The archangel jumped to the side, bringing his hands together while he did so. Again the golden light appeared. When he increased the space between his palms the light shaped a shining sword. Gripping the hilt and pointing the tip at Uriel Michael lunged forward. He’d never thought Uriel would attack him. Ignore his orders, all right, maybe run from him, hiding Solomon’s vessel, but actually launch an attack at him never fitted the half-fallen angel. _So Solomon’s curse goes to that extend..._  
Uriel dodged his strike by rolling to the side.

“Geez, I already thought you’d never get started.”  
Metatron appeared in the doorway. Obviously he had been watching them. His face bore amusement. “How strange that you have this much more patience with him than you ever had with me, old man.”, he addressed the white-blonde. “I’d be dead by now.”  
Michael’s eyes grew wide. “What are you doing here?”, he demanded.  
“We will force you to go to sleep.”, Uriel answered him. “Maybe you will see sense when you realize you cannot beat the three of us.” At his words Sandalphon entered the room behind his brother.  
The lead-angel whirled around and screamed at Uriel: “Traitor!”  
How could you brother up with the likes of him his eyes asked. They displayed a mixture of hurt and arraignment the dark-haired angel never saw on his face before. He felt the burden of his guilt clawing his core when he confronted that look.  
_I am sorry, Michael_ , he thought while he took to the air to escape an attack of white-hot rage, _There is no other way._

Metatron used Michael’s focus on Uriel to strike from behind, hitting him right in the back with a hard kick. He stumbled but managed to catch himself just in time to evade another blow. He stooped beneath the swung leg, turned on the ball of his foot and aimed his weapon at Meta-tron’s neck, ready to decapitate him. Before the blade even so much as scratched the skin it stopped in its tracks, hold off by Sandalphon. The giant did not need more than a bare hand to block the mightiest sword of Heaven. Metatron smiled. “Thanks, brother!” Then he whirled around to grab Michael’s sword arm, yet the other was faster, pressing a hand against the at-tacker’s sternum, sending him flying with a jolt of the same golden light that formed his sword. Metatron tumbled over the Couch, landing on the floor behind. Giving him no time to get to his feet the lead-angel used the blade Sandalphon was still holding onto to get him out of his way by gripping the weapon’s tip with his second hand and swirling it like a guidon. The giant did not expect this action thus his stand was not stable enough to parry. He tripped and Michael shot past him at the re-erecting Metatron.  
Uriel surveyed the fight for a second, unable to help doubting they could beat the highest Archangel. But he needed him to sleep.

With a blast of light that pierced Michael’s leg he re-joined the battle. A period of rest was all he needed for William.  
Michael swore as the attack hit his left shin. The pain was agony and he was sure he’d not be able to put his weight on the leg for some time. “You will pay for this!”, he shouted and hurled a crescent of pulsing energy that failed Uriel by mere millimetres. The taller angel answered with a flip of his hand, creating a strong shockwave that did not just dash the other three angels off their positions but additionally separated a large part of the house from the rest. A few servants came running into the room, intrigued by the sudden ruckus in the middle of the night. Laying their eyes on the angels they blinked unbelievingly. Sandalphon shushed them away, not want-ing any unnecessary casualties. They fled screaming.

Their attacks became fiercer now that they had more room. Combined waves of pulsing energy from Metatron and Uriel clashed with Michael's golden light-strikes, enlighting the night like fireworks. Michael tried to stay above his pursuers. His wings carried him high into the sky where he summoned a glowing ball that worked like a miniature sun, enabling him to see them properly while blinding them if they attempted to look up at him. Unable to clearly make out their target the blows of Uriel and Metatron went into thin air for it was easy for the archangel to evade. Sandalphon remained at the ground as if waiting for something, Uriel noticed. It seemed the brothers had talked this through beforehand. He wished he and Metatron had coordinated their advance as well. The two of them were both fighting Michael, yet they did so each in his own way rather than together. Without a strategy their chance for winning was small. Damn, if only they had disputed this the day before! But Uriel wasn't enough of a warrior to consider such things. As angel of repentance he was used to work alone plus on instructions of those who developed the strategies.  
In his rage Michael bombarded them with meteorites of dazzling light-magic. They exhausted their defensive barriers and burnt their skin. In order not to give him a too easy target they parted, each one flying in another direction, forcing him to shift his focus repeatedly. Still most of his attacks hit. One beam caught Uriel directly at the head, disrupting his sense of balance. He could not hear for a moment and toddled in the air like a hatchling, dazed and dizzy. Blood trickled out of his right ear accompanied by a high pitched pipe. Metatron did not fare far better: He took two blows into stomach and chest cutting off his breath. Disorientated Uriel was hit by another attack which aimed at the part of his back where the left wing had once been. He screamed in agony as a tearing pain set his body afire like it had the day Michael cut off his swing. Pressing a hand to his mouth he struggled to shut out the memory that was always too fast to cause a damp on him. Luckily he got the time he needed. Apparently Michael thought he was dealt with for the moment and concentrated on Metatron, giving the taller angel the oppor-tunity to get behind him. With Michael focused on Metatron he knew he should strike the un-shielded back. Something held him back, though. It seemed he lacked the resolve to accom-plish this highest step of betrayal. Five seconds of hesitance sufficed for the white-blonde to notice his mistake. Fast as a falcon he whirled around. His foot buried painfully into Uriel's stom-ach. Taking advantage of Michael's diversion Metatron landed a row of electrical bolts at the ex-posed wings and when he hurled around to return the attack Uriel's spears of light crazed his sides. Since Michael was captured between his enemies now his blows were less well aimed and easier for the two to dodge, still the lead angel managed to conter almost all of their as-saults. Nevertheless his light became weaker.

Michael's energy was visibly fading and the fatigue began to show on his face. To save his strength he stopped his magical offences and concentrated on keeping them at bay with his divine sword. And despite being tired he was a damn good swordsman!  
Being worn off by the fight almost as much as his former friend Uriel landed a few metres be-low, taking the time to capture his breath while he watched Metatron summon a sword to parry the white-blonde's fierce blows. Although Metatron was not even half as wasted as the rest of them it didn't look like he could overcome his opponent. Thousands of years of sword-training were hard to beat.  
The dark blue eyes travelled to the giant form of Sandalphon. He still stood motionless, observ-ing the battle. Then his gaze returned to the clashing swords. If only he hadn't lost half of his powers along with his left wing!

The appearance of a cut along his alliance's left arm inspired an idea in Uriel. His eyes locked to the hand clasping the golden blade he reached for his wing and ripped out a feather, hissing at the stinging sensation. He brought the keel to his teeth. After surveying the movements of the sword a little longer and biting the keel at a certain angle he tested his luck: He threw it like a dart towards Michael, accompanied by a gleaming arrow of light to shelter it from view. Of course Michael parried the arrow with ease, but - as Uriel had hoped - he failed to see the hid-den feather which now burrowed itself within the back of his sword hand, causing him to drop the weapon with a short gasp of surprise. When leaving the hand of its master the blade dissi-pated into nothingness.  
Before he could call upon the sword again Metatron's blade met Michael's shoulder, making him groan in pain and anger, followed up by a cry of shock as the other abandoned his weapon to tackle him full force with his whole body. The impact catapulted the small angel out of the air and smashed him ungently at the ground. Meanwhile Sandalphon approached the point where Michael would land to welcome the falling body with a brutal body check. The archangel was hurled across the grass towards Metatron - who had descended - only to be dashed back to Sandalphon. The brothers continued to throw Michael, who couldn’t steady himself at the ground due to the wounded leg Uriel gave him, back and forth between them like a macabre version of playing ball, until he collapsed in the snow, a mess of blood and broken bones, pant-ing heavily.

Metatron set a boot between Michael's shoulder blades to nail him to the ground, putting so much weight into it that it forced the breath out of the smaller angel's lungs. He leaned over the bruised body. The smile crazing his lips was unfittingly guileless, thus causing a flurry in Uriel's stomach like a strange sense of foreboding, but he couldn't quiet grasp it.  
"Game over, old man. You've lost.", he cheered.  
Michael struggled to free himself although it was obvious: He was at the end of his strength. Their leader had reached his limit. Instantly the knot clenching the one-winged angel's inners vanished for there was no doubt they had accomplished their goal - Michael lost and would have no other choice but to rest after being worn off like he was at the time. The defeat would gnaw at his pride, making him seek to return to full powers in a long sleep after which he doubtless would revenge himself. But this would be in a hundred years. Until then everything was fine.

Right then it happened: Metatron's smile transformed into that of a victorious predator as he grabbed one of Michael's wings. Michael froze. His eyes widened in pure terror at the forbidden touch, full of disbelief. A hand enclosed the part of the wing between joint and tip, slowly put-ting pressure on it until the bones gave sickening crack-sounds which made Uriel dizzy with nausea. Michael let out a choked scream of pain.  
There was no clear thought in his mind, just an overwhelming queasiness. This had to stop! This was wrong! It was disgusting. Uriel stumbled in their direction, steadying himself while gathering speed. He grabbed Metatron’s wrist with his own shaking hand, forcing him to stop. His whole body was trembling and he was unable to speak in that moment. It felt as if he was going to collapse. Metatron gave him a parental look and laid a hand on his shoulder.  
“This must be hard for you.”, he said, “I forgot you went through the same process. You should better not watch this.”  
He gesticulated for his brother who put his hand on Uriel’s other shoulder, directing him away from the scene. Uriel’s world began to spin more and more with Michael’s screams ringing in his ears accompanied by the noise of breaking bones.  
He couldn’t take it. He spun around, detached himself from Sandalphon’s grasp and flew at Metatron. As fast as he could he seized Michael – who seemed to have passed out by the pain – and took flight. Sandalphon was about to follow him but Metatron held him back.  
“Let him go.”, he said calmly. “He’ll hand Michael over soon enough.”  
Together they watched the fleeing angel disappear in the clear night sky.


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

 

"I'm telling you again: I've had enough!", William growled at Sitri, who led them around a bazar in a town in west-hell. They were running around hell for hours now. At first, William was okay with it since Isaak was so happy about it, but time dragged on and he was getting sincerely tired and unnerved. Wherever they went everybody stared at them as if they were the animals in a zoo. (Sitri had assured them that as long as they were with him in his uncle's territory no-body would dare to advance them, still it was disconcerting.)  
The demon ignored him and proceeded to discuss the goods of a merchant selling jewellery with Isaak. Now William was sure it had to be some kind of stupid strategy to keep him from returning home. But why was Sitri this determined to make him stay in hell?  
When they marched through the wasteland park he seemed normal. When they visited that town and he noticed William wanted to stop walking around he became overly nice, invited them in a restaurant - William had to admit that the coffee had been splendid - and entertained them with stories about éclats in hell's policy. He would be lying if he claimed the anecdotes about incapable ministers and intrigues against kings did not amuse him.  
After that he stated for the first time that he would like to return home. Sitri became quiet for a second and then proposed to take the chance to show them round the streets of the inner city which was presented architecture that became rare in the human realm. Isaak was all on fire so William shoved away his confusion and agreed to accompany them on their sightseeing-trip. When Sitri took the opportunity to hold a speech at every third building about which human building resembled it or was inspired by it only to proceed by holding monologues about the Romanic-, Renaissance- and Gotik-Era William's indifference to the topic made him soon de-mand to be brought back to Isaak's place a secound time. Back then Sitri fainted to not have heard him over his lively talk with Isaak about the village's history. When they were ended and he asked again Sitri turned to Isaak as if he had just been hit by the idea to show him some-thing he'd definitely love: The market. Up until now Sitri behaved as the perfect city-guide for Isaak, firing up his passion for everything regarding hell, showing him magical tools that were offered here and there, buying him a pack of tea - Tea from Hell! Isaak had been overwhelmed with excitement. Whenever William tried to speak up Sitri played busy. But the blonde's pa-tience was wearing thin.  
With the grumpiest expression he positioned himself directly behind Sitri, his arms crossed, and loudly cleared his throat several times.  
Sitri turned around, giving him a radiant smile. "Yes, William?"  
"Send us home, NOW!", he ordered the demon.  
Sitri's lip twitched briefly, but his smile remained. He curtly bowed his head, said "As you wish." and started to lead them out of the masses.

~*~

Still panting and clutching Michael's motionless body Uriel stumbled into the small chapel. The room was empty. According to the layers of dust and the mouldy smell nobody had been here for some time. For the moment it was perfect. Making his way to the altar his eyes searched the walls for a hidden door, but unfortunately the little church seemed to have no living-room for priests. Fine.  
Carefully he laid down Michael on the ground behind the table, then sat down next to him, lean-ing his back on the altar. The wooden table provided at least a hint of safety by sheltering most of them from view. His head tilted back he closed his eyes. _What have I done?_

How could he trust Metatron? The chief of the virtues hated Michael. How could he think Metatron would be content with just stealing Michael's position? _I've been blinded by hope_ , Uriel thought bitter, _I wanted to believe that he told the truth. He is an angel after all._ Nonetheless he lied.

He stretched his aching wing. His ear no longer feeped, yet it was almost deaf and his sense for balance was disturbed. On his fled he lost orientation more than once and his flight turned out to be unstable, slowing him down immensely. Though he had been flying all night long he did not get as far away as he would have liked. By dusk the last remnants of strength had left him, forcing him to land as long as he managed to not let Michael slip from his weary arms or fall out of the sky himself. His body felt sore and tired.  
Through the dusty windows shone the brightening morning sun, slowly filling the room with light.  
To prevent falling in a doze he reopened his eyes, let them wander his surroundings, then the body to his left. Michael looked horrible: battered, torn and smeared with blood. His hair was a mess and his wings -  
Immediately Uriel averted his gaze. Apart from certain fractures Michael's wings were fine, still ...  
The memory of the night sent shivers over the angel's skin. Images of Metatron's hands timidly curling around the feathers flooded his head. He recalled him breaking bone after bone begin-ning at the wing-tip. He remembered Michael's eyes. And Metatron's. And the joy in them. And the smile.  
Human-born cruelty.  
He looked down at his shaking hands, which had brought suffering to thousands of people in the name of God. It had been his job - their job. There was hardly any archangel who did not have to relent to punishment sometimes. He had killed without flinching before. He had tor-tured. Anyway, there had never been delight in it. Orders were orders. But Metatron did not have orders. He wanted to hurt Michael and he took pleasure in it. Again it caused Uriel nausea to merely think about it. For all eternity he'd be unable to grasp this human character trade.  
Far from the past the voice of Solomon rose from the swirling mass of thoughts in his dizzy head.

_"Don't you understand? It's because it brings them joy."_

"No", he whispered, "I don't understand."  
What would Metatron do now? Would he follow him? Would he find him? What should he do if he did? Fight him and Sandalphon alone? Pointless in his weakened condition. Flee again? Un-likely successful. Excuse and hand over Michael? No, it was unthinkable. Would Metatron re-venge himself? This was all to safe William. Would Metatron hurt him now? Would he break their deal like he broke Michael's bones?  
_After all, I fulfilled my part_ , he thought,   _Michael is down._ _As soon as he wakes up he will have to visit Limbo to recover his full powers._ And in a hundred years Uriel would die for his crime. Either that or they both died today by Metatron's hand.

Resolute he shook his head. It was useless to marter his brain with questions he couldn't an-swer for now. Again he shut his eyes and leaned back, concentrating on breathing evenly. Foremost important now was to recover.

~*~

They followed Sitri into a side street, where he summoned a portal. William ushered a reluctant Isaak to go through, then he himself stepped into the gleaming circle. He wondered how much time had passed and if there was still enough time to get a good doze of sleep. Surely Kevin would inquisite him to retell everything that happened in hell and if he did anything dangerous before he'd let him go to bed.

"Whooooaaaa!", Isaak shouted.  
The portal had transported them into a grand room instead of Isaak's home. One look was enough to tell William that he wasn't where he aimed to be, still he hopefully questioned: "This is not by any chance a hidden room in your house?"  
"Oh, I wish it was!", he got for an answer. "Just look at that!"  
He gestured into space. William had to admit the place was impressive. The walls were covered in wine-red tapestry with bordures in a darker shade of red, here and there hung with dark vel-vety curtains. The carpet was of a cold dark red as well. A big canapé decorated with a dozen fluffy pillows took most of the space. In a corner stood a small bookshelf. The dresser dominat-ed the room - it went over a whole wall, from bottom to ceiling, five floors filled with clothes of all kind. The whole scenery was designed like drawing of the late Barock-Era. The grandeur could fit a queen. It was breathtakingly beautiful, regardless, William was tired and this was not the room he desired to be in in his current situation.

"I asked you to deliver us home!", he uttered irritated.  
"You didn't specify whose home."  
Sitri, after stepping into the room behind William and closing the portal, walked past him and glanced him in the eyes. "Welcome at my place!"  
"Argh, Sitri!!" The blond teenager was close to losing his temper. Those demons brought noth-ing but chaos! "I demand of you to br-" A pillow caught him off guard in the face, thrown by named demon.  
"Let's have a sleepover!", he exclaimed cheeringly, "I learned about it from the boys at Strad-ford. If I got it right we need to throw pillows at each other as an initiation-ritus. It's your turn now."  
Before he could say anything Isaak had jumped to his side, his hands folded in a pleading manner. "Oh yes, William! Please, can we sleep here? I want to sleep here! Please!!!"  
_Incredulous!_ , the blonde thought as he looked at his friend, _That damn demon fobbed me again!_  
"No!", he said, resolute. Isaak's face fell.  
"But I'll never get the chance to sleep in a chamber like this one! Like a prince!" He beamed at Sitri. "A demon prince!"  
Oh dear, obviously Sitri had managed to win the red head over completely.

"And what are you going to tell your parents? They'll be worried.", he tried to reason.  
Isaak blinked, confused. "That I have been kidnapped by a demon who invited me to stay over?"  
William fell silent. Alright, he did not have parents for a long time now and his memories of them were fading one by one, but he was quite sure that a phrase like that did not make for a suitable excuse. Yet Isaak looked at him in bewilderment, just like incidents as that one were common to his family.  
_His people believed the nonsense with the haunted mill as well_ , he remembered, furrowing his eyebrows. _This 'nonsense' turned out to be real_ , a tiny sarcastic voice added at the back of his head. Nargh, this whole unscientific stuff creeped out his realist brain! He definitely needed a rest. A luxurious armchair, a cup of tea freshly brewed by his butler. _Angel-butler ~_ , the voice filed in. Oh shut up!

Suddenly feeling exceptionally tired the blonde muttered: "Fine! Stay for the night. But don't expect me to. Sitri!"  
"Yes?", he advanced, his lips bearing the well-known, dangerously sweet smile.  
"Bring me-" "Doesn't my room appeal to you?"  
Sitri came even closer, even dared to lay his arms around William's shoulders, his face ending up directly in front of the blonde's. He lidded his bright eyes, touched the other's nose with his own and purred "Here you can find anything your heart desires." to a baffled William. "Undis-turbed calm, books containing the knowledge of thousands of years of human science and reli-gion, money... ~"  
Too shocked by Sitri's closeness William was unable to react anyhow, so Sitri went on, catching a golden strand and twirling it around his fingers: "Your dearest wish is to become powerful and influential, am I not right? You want to play your part in human policy as fast as possible."  
Now Sitri caught his face in his slender hands and looked at him with a mixture of earnest and devotion.  
"One word from you and England can be yours! 60 Legions are at my back and call to serve you as you please. My agents have influence on the right politicians. Just ask for it and I'll get you an assignment for university, or the parliament directly if you want. All I ask in return is that you keep me company for another few hours."

William's head spun from these certain outlooks. The prestige and acknowledgement of his genius he so craved could be his within heartbeats? But what was it worth if it was given instead of earned?  
With determination he grabbed the demon's thin wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. "Stop that crap!", he demanded and was again perplexed when Sitri did nothing more than shrug his shoulders and take two steps distance.  
"It was worth a try.", he concluded blithely.

Isaak, who had been observing the scene, sighed: "I wish I was being offered those things!"

Sitri ignored him.  
"I cannot persuade you to stay, can I?", he asked in the end, a hint of compunction underlying his words. "But before you order me to deliver you home you should know that it was Uriel who wanted me to take you here. You should also know, that he insisted to keep you in Hell at least until sunrise."


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

 

"Rubbish!"  
Not for once William believed that it should have been Kevin who sent him to Hell. Why should he do so? And foremost: Kevin was an angel. He despised demons and any time advised him to avoid contact with them.

"You mean an angel send William to Hell?", Isaak interrupted his train of thoughts. His friend looked horribly amazed by the turn of events William noticed. The boy was on the verge of say-ing something more. This would mean another ongoing discussion the blonde was not willing to lead. So he set off to keep it short, hurriedly and loudly addressing Sitri: "Okay, let's presume he asked you to hijack us- which I in no way believe – explain one thing: Why should he do so?"  
He looked at Sitri sternly, irritated, impatient. The pretty demon blinked back, then closed his eyes for a moment, shrug his shoulders and blatantly stated: "I don't know."

Now that caught William off-guard.  
"What the- What do you mean you don't know?", he sputtered.

"He didn't tell me."

"And you didn't ask?"

"Nope."

"He just said 'Take William down to Hell'?!"

"Indeed."

"And you just did."

"Jup."

"Like Hell I'm gonna believe that!!"  
William was exasperated. That demon wasn't even trying to make up a convincing cover-story for his actions! He could freak out! But if he lost his temper Sitri would make use of it by conjur-ing up more and more diversions for him to prevent him from actually forcing him to bring them home. Closing his eyes and raising his hands to treat his aching temples he tried to calm down and work out a clue to trick Sitri into submission. He wondered how Solomon had man-aged to submit the demons to his will. According to Matthers magic was the key, but wasn't Sitri bound by a contract? Wasn't he obliged to serve him? _Not as long as he can stop me from uttering definite instructions_ , he concluded. So the trick was to place an order that Sitri must follow through, which meant two things: He had to formulate it cautiously and he had to manage to say it out loud. Unfortunately, Sitri was absolutely aware of these details as well, so he had to confuse him enough to break his attention. Maybe if he forced him to elaborate the story further. Most of the time Sitri appeared indifferent or bored, surely he wouldn't like to have to think the thing through intently. Hopefully.

Reopening his eyes William started to set his plan in motion. Much calmer he interrogated: "When did he ask you?"  
"Directly after you returned from church.", Sitri answered. "But ‘ask’ doesn't cover it. He rather demanded."  
William furrowed his brows. Okay...  
"And he 'demanded' of you to not bring me back until sunrise of the first Christmas-day."  
The demon nodded.  
"You were okay with being bossed around by an angel?" Sitri was a proud demon, this remark should anger him. Strangely, though, he stayed completely balanced, telling him: "We made a deal."  
_Huh?_ Instead of throwing Sitri off balance, it was William who was getting pulled into the story now.  
"What deal?", he wanted to know.  
Sitri, meanwhile, strode over to the canapé, sat down and made himself comfortable with a cushion in his back. It almost looked as if he tried to gain time to decide how much to reveal. Intrigued, William pushed on: "What's in it for you? What did he promise you?"

 _And why did he go to such lengths?_ , he added to himself. No matter how he put it, he couldn't picture a situation in which Kevin would approve of him visiting this dimension.

"A trade between devil and angel? Is this even legal?", Isaak, who had seated himself next to Sitri, blurted out. "Aren't you supposed to hate each other to the core?"  
Sitri stared at him blankly.  
"But when you think about it for a moment", the optimistic red-head continued, "Most of you demons have been angels before. Aah! I got it!" The boy clapped his hands. "You and Mr. Cecil are old friends!"  
Both, William and Sitri, erupted in laughter simultaneously, causing Isaak to pout.  
"What?! It could totally be! Don't laugh at me! You're mean!"

They took their time to recompose themselves before William recalled not having get an an-swer out of the other. His facial expression returned to sincere he focused those bright blue eyes, his own green ones boring into them. "So, come on now, spit it out! What did you receive in return for your 'favour'?"

If he told William that he needed training this would equal admitting inferiority to his rivals. If he did so he could directly quit the competition for Hell's sake! Yet, William did not specifically ask him to answer truthfully... Sitri chewed at his lower lip. Should he lie? It was a bit of a risk. If the blonde ever found out, he might lose his trust. But the throne was at stake. He sighed.  
Made up his mind he turned around, just in case William wanted to search his eyes for reliabil-ity, and dug around between the pillows. Naturally the teen watched him wearily. Blonde brows raised in disbelief as the demon protruded a package of chocolate-chip-cookies.  
"You took me hostage for a handful of cookies?! This- ... you-.... Unbelievable!" William shook his head. But then again- what did he expect? It was Sitri after all. And maybe - just maybe - it was better to be in the hands of a sweets-maniac than in those of a power-thirsty devil who took him for political reasons.

Isaak snug a cookie from Sitri.  
"Hmmm! Those are really delicious!", he hummed after biting into it. Sitri simply smiled, glad that the cover worked.  
"But we still don't know why we should go here.", Isaak chewed on. William nodded. Kevin's demeanour was odd these last few days in general. His hand instinctively searched the wooden cross his butler had presented him with, accompanied by those confusing words. _He said it would protect me... Protect... Protect! Of course!_  
The only possible reason to send William beneath the earth was to get him out of reach of... of... someone from Heaven? The time when Edward Eden had been possessed by an angel popped up in his mind. If he remembered right, it had been Michael? What if another angel de-scended to kill him? _But would Kevin know about it?_ Doubts he used to burry deep beneath his study-work rose up to the surface of his consciousness. Thoughts he did not want to pursue.  
Did Kevin know about another angel being after him and didn't tell him? Had he known back when Michael was after him? Would he have let him kill him if he knew? And what were Kevin's orders, anyway? Assuming, of course, that he worked under orders. All he told was that he was on the lookout for a successor of the ring. After he found him, what were his plans? Was he, too, set to take his soul to Heaven? And if so, why hadn't he done so until now? There had been plenty opportunities. And, assuming he had been ordered to kill him, and he refused, what did that mean for the angel?  
Geez, his head throbbed! Too many questions, too few answers.

Nonetheless, he shared his idea of Kevin trying to get him out of some unknown danger with his kidnapper and his friend. Immediately Sitri's face contorted in worry.  
"An advance of Heaven? At this time of the year?", he murmured. "This would be bad." Albeit, it didn't make sense to the demon. Wasn't it Uriel's task to win William over for Heaven? He, too, remembered the incident with Michael, who had come to Stradford to obtain Solomon's soul. Was there a struggle among the angels for the heir's soul? No, unlikely, Sitri concluded. Michael would not have to compete, he'd just order Uriel to hand over his target. But if Uriel had already been ordered to, why did Michael bother to descend? Matters had never been as complicated before William!  
"It cannot be any other, can it?", aforementioned interrupted his reflections. He shook his head. "Then that means there's an angel after me, again."  
"Presumably.", he nodded.  
Isaak listened silently, torn between awe and worry.

Suddenly William grabbed the demon's shoulders to secure himself the full attention of Sitri as well as grounding himself when a concerning thought struck him.  
"You told me about rivalries in Heaven once.", he began. "Is Kevin in danger?"  
Sitri was unprepared for the amount of emotion luring behind William's words. He felt the need to comfort his master and friend, yet did not want to lie to him. So he merely replied: "It is possible that he'll get punished for letting you escape after you discovered his true identity." Something the demons had long since been wondering about anyway. Seeing William's eyes grow wide he hurriedly went on: "But it is unlikely. Heaven worships Christmas. They avoid bloodshed on holy days."  
Isaak came to his help: "Maybe they just want to check up on him?"

Listening to those sentences, something within William told him that they were wrong. He simply felt that, whatever caused Kevin to become as edgy as he had been lately, was definitely not a lapidar check-up. It was somehow dangerous. He had to get back! He had to make sure his butler was alright.  
Needless to mention that Sitri was absolutely against it, now more than ever. He wanted to keep him safe. They argued long precious minutes about it. Minutes in which the possibility of being responsible for Kevin being hurt rapidly ate away at William's temper. Their voices rouse until they screamed at each other, each one anxious to assure a loved one's safety. Isaak watched them helplessly until he could no longer bear it.  
"Stop it!", he shouted, and to his surprise the two fell silent, their attention on him now. He felt his ears grow hot, his face burning red in embarrassment, but fought down the urge to excuse. Instead he stuttered:

"What if Sitri takes a look at Mr. Cecil?"

Silence.

"W-well, you see... we'll wait here securely and Sitri can sneak back and in case of danger return fast through a portal ...."

Whilst Sitri, Isaak and William pursued their debate, two small shadows flitted over the flowers gracing the garden of the western king. They scurried up and down the walls, searching for the window that’d show them the elector. Unfortunately the chamber of Baalberith’s beloved doll did not feature any windows. His puppet was his to look at, only his. And he was all his nephew should look at, like a good servant.  
Anyhow, before the spies could even so much as guess that their researched window did not exist they were detected by the premise’s guards and had to flee. Their master would not be pleased with them.


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

 

The sun had reached its zenith when it happened: Dump clapping-sounds shook him off his daze. He listened for a while. _A morse-notification?_  
Yes, it sounded like someone clapped a message. Over and over again the same pattern. Forc-ing his mind to concentrate on the sounds he recalled his knowledge of the morse-code. As most human languages he had had to learn it in order to communicate with believers all over the globe. He didn't use it in a long time so he needed several minutes to work out the content.

'Meet me in the forest one hour south-eastern from the boy's house, cruel angel!'

So Metatron lost his track and now tried to lure him out? He snorted. As if he was idiotic enough to fall for such an obvious trap! He rose from his crouched position by the altar and carefully stretched. His wing and back ached, but his ear got better and his sense of balance had im-proved. He glanced down on Michael who did not stir for the last four hours. His wounds were too heavy to heal this fast. He knelt down beside him and started to rub off the worst dirt of his superior's face and arms with his sleeve. The situation was pretty bad, he was well aware of the misery he got himself into. He was not just on Michael's bad side, but on Metatron's as well. If he managed to get Michael to Limbo safely his wrath would come upon him no earlier than in hundred years’ time, just as planned. The chief of the virtues, however, was another thing. Metatron was hardly predictable.

'Meet me in the forest ...'

He slumped down next to the unconscious and sighed heavily. The battle had exhausted him, his whole body felt heavy and tired, and the burns he received from Michael stung unpleasantly. How nice it would be to just go to sleep, recover and refresh his senses. He sighed again. No, he'd have to wait at least eighty more years until he got his rest. If he survived until then.  
He returned to his stupor-like dozing for around half an hour, until another change of the noise surrounding him alerted his ears: The clapping stopped. Looked like Metatron gave up. Uriel's face contorted in concern. What would the angel do now? If it was him who got betrayed and stolen a target he'd no doubt try to force his will on the traitor by full force. And if torture didn't bring the anticipated result he'd coax the person who angered him into submission by going after someone that person cared for. Those were the direct, most logical ways to reach one's goal. He glanced out of the window at a blank winter's sky. Judging by the sun's whereabouts it was around half past twelve. He had asked the demon to host his young master at least until sunrise. William was probably returned to the human realm by now and found his friend's house devastated, his butler and fag missing. If he was Metatron, he'd go after William. He knew Mi-chael would do the same, Gabriel would, when necessary even Raphael would, every true angel would act in the same pattern. But Metatron's mind worked different.  
Was his charge in danger? Apparently he would have to go see Metatron anyway. Either after a long term of recovery, or soon, still battered from battle. Either way he'd be in a disadvantage, facing two full-winged angels alone. Though it might make a difference for William.

He stood up, faced the window, reached out a hand and placed it on the cool glass. Closing his eyes he concentrated on the land, sending his inner eye up into the clouds. In his mind he travelled back to the mansion, which was shockingly close to his current shelter, and then south. There, he found a forest, plus sensed two familiar heavenly auras. Well, then. Taking two steps back, his hand left in its position, but pulled away from the glass, he created enough room between himself and the wall. A spark of light danced in front of his palm. It stretched and began to swirl, growing bigger in the process. The dimension contorted around it, folded and bent until it touched a point two hundred feet away from the brothers in the forest, hidden by trees and bushes. Manifesting the link the initial spark of light jumped right through the melt-ing-point, ripping a path open on its way. After emerging on the other side, it began to dance again, his every motion tracked by a thin trace of gleaming energy, a magical thread binding the spark to its origin. It drew a sigil into the air, resembling those used to summon demons. When the drawing was complete, the path opened.  
Uriel opened his eyes and withdrew his hand. Before he went he turned around one last time, scooping up Michael to reposition him to ensure he definitely couldn't be seen from the door-way. Then he walked through the portal.

A mouldy scent mixed with the smell of snow greeted him. Fresh air wrapped his burning skin in a soothing embrace. His fist clenched he released the spark that built the way. It danced away and the dimension snapped back into place. This done, he set off towards the clearing where he knew Metatron and Sandalphon were waiting for him. He chose to walk to spare his wing musculature.

~*~

"So he's in Hell, you say?"  
"Yes, master!", one of the small shadows confirmed. "He followed Viscount Sitri into the house of the western king.", his companion concluded.  
Their master leaned back, his brows furrowed.


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

 

"You look awful.", Metatron greeted him as he stepped out of the line of trees, immediately prompting him to huff in annoyance. _I have been in a fight last night in case you forgot_ , he retorted mentally, though bit back the comment. He couldn't afford to affront his opponent flat out.  
_The bastard has bathed_ , Uriel noticed with a tinge of envy, _and magically mended his wounds._ He appeared fresh and in good shape. The more Uriel was aware of his own appearance: the torn clothes, torn skin, dried blood, messy hair ... How embarrassing for the once archangel and still angel of presence. Ridiculous as it might be, it made him slightly self-conscious.  
Shaking the notion away he quickly strode over to the other angels, halting a metre in front of them. Lifting his chin, stretching his back and crossing his arms he did his best to look intimi-dating.  
"So?", he began with the hint of a sneer.  
Metatron smiled at him sheepishly. "'So'?", he repeated, inclining his head. Obviously he tried playing innocent. Uriel did not have the patience to go along with the act. So he directly stated: "We agreed on defeating him just enough to make him go to sleep."  
Metatron nodded. "Ah, that. Indeed, we did."  
Again he smiled at Uriel, who stated, clearly furious: "You did more than that!"  
"I did.", the brunette confirmed.  
_Playing rat and cat with me?_ , the dark-haired angel thought. He wasn't in the right mood. Indif-ferent to whether it helped his case or not he unfolded his wing, the feathers spread wide. A clear gesture of threat.  
In his most commanding voice he spoke: "You'll explain to me right now what you were up to, chief of the virtues!"  
The addressee snickered inwardly. They both knew Uriel did not have any authority over him. Nonetheless he acknowledged the Seraph was an impressing figure. Nodding at his request, he took the time to make himself comfortable. He bent down, cleared an area off the fresh snow and sat down, his arms bracing him behind his back. He beamed at Uriel charmingly and ges-tured for him to settle down as well, knowing beforehand the angel wouldn't do anything alike. It was amusing to watch his thin lips melt into an even thinner line as he pressed them togeth-er in silent disapproval of not being taken seriously. Testing the dark-eyed's patience he stretched, then leaned back, stating: "You whole lot are too stiff, you know?"  
When he laid flat on his back, half of his body sinking into a blanket of white powder, one leg pulled up and the other casually hanging over it, Uriel still gave no noise. Though he stared at his fellow angel disdainfully. His eyes directed towards the sky Metatron splayed his wings wide, brushing them against the snow. Suddenly he erupted in laughter. "Now that's a snow-angel!", he cheered, folding his arms behind his head. He dared a happy grin at Uriel. Oh, if looks could kill...  
After a short giggle Metatron took pity on the nearly imploding angel and started to speak, di-verting his glance back to the lazily drifting clouds: "Back when I was still called Enoch I used to dream of Heaven as a place of eternal peace and justice. I was inclined to be the best possible to earn the afterlife in Eden." His eyes closed. "And one day Michael descended, gracing me with his holy presence. He acted divine, gentle, unbelievably friendly; I was blended by his per-fection. And then he asked me if I would like to go to Heaven."  
Uriel listened quietly, not learning anything he did not know already.  
"Shortly after he sent Raguel to collect me, who brought me to Heaven and assigned me my wings. The most wonderful present I ever got, turning out to be the worst curse imaginable."  
"With the wings comes obligation, I'm sure you have been told so.", the Seraph interrupted impatiently.  
"Yes, I have.", Metatron answered. "But I didn't understand the consequences back then."  
Uriel snorted. "Your short-sightedness is not our fault." He began to suspect the reason for Metatron's previous actions.  
The angel of human origin had to smile at the coldhearted retort he came to notice was typical-ly angelic. Few angels were familiar to the concept of sympathy or pity. Albeit it was possible for them to adapt some feelings, Uriel was proof for that. In fact, Metatron had been utterly sur-prised to find the angel had developed a deep parental love for William Twining, learning to ac-cess some human feelings in the process. It was the reason he came to like the Seraph and hoped he'd go along with his plans. It would be a pity if he had to get rid of him to prevent him from interfering with his schemes. Yet if necessary he'd dispose of him without a flinch, a trade he himself adapted of the rest of the angels. Funny how things mixed.  
"You're aware I've had children?", the lying down continued. "It was awful to have to leave them, yet awesome to be able to watch their complete lives and those of their children."  
Now his face contorted. With a jolt he sat up, staring Uriel directly in the eyes. "That is to say, until HE decided humanity had to be punished. It were the Watchers* who advanced human girls in disguise as men! The angels were at fault! Yet it was humanity that got whipped! I had to witness my offsprings die a cruel death, forbidden to help! They were innocent!", he finished agitated.  
Uriel, nonetheless, stayed calm, exclaiming in a cold voice: "No human being is truly innocent. They are born already with a heritage of guilt**, passed down by their ancestors." After that his face softened, as did his voice. "There had been no other way. The offsprings would have brought about a disaster. And the Grigori were equally punished. Besides, Noah was saved."  
Metatron nodded, reigning in his anger. He mustn't let himself get carried away he reminded himself.  
"See, Uriel, I don't hold a grudge against you, since it had been you who descended to earth to warn my grandson of the events ahead.", he spoke softly. Before he could proceed he was cut off by the other: "I merely carried orders. Don't mistake it for kindness."  
Metatron's lips shifted into a lopsided grin. He was aware of that. Despite that he had been grateful.

"How does the flood lead to you messing with Michael's wings?", Uriel came to the point, fed up with the small-talk. "It wasn't him who gave the order, it was God himself.", he clarified addi-tionally.  
The short-haired brunette abandoned his sitting position and stood up. As he did before he left Uriel waiting while shaking hair and wings free off snow and dusting the white powder off his clothes. A feather fell from his wings to the ground. He picked it up and, twirling it between his thumb and index finger, his eyes transfixed on the object, he conveyed: "It was Michael who tricked me into being an angel. It was Michael who first used the blind and devoted follower I was as an obedient pawn on the chessboard known as war between dark and light. It was Mi-chael who abandoned me suddenly, leaving me on my own in this endless monotonous night-mare. It is Michael who looks down on me now, sneering at the 'filthy human' whom he'd like to kick out of his realm regardless if he himself invited me in. It is Michael who robbed me off the possibility to die in peace and enjoy the afterlife with my family and friends. And for what?"  
As he talked the angel had started pacing, his voice becoming sharper with every word. Crum-bling the feather in a fist he glanced over at Uriel.  
"He played with me. He's playing with all of us. It's time someone pays him back." After tossing the violated feather away Metatron approached Uriel, whose expression was unreadable and stony, laid his hands on the taller angel's shoulders and apelled emphatically: "Didn't he use you in the same way? Haven't you been his so called best friend before he met me? Didn't he abandon you for no reason? He even crippled you." He squeezed the other's left shoulder where the wing was amiss. "And after doing so he looks down on you, mocks you, insults you."  
Uriel pushed him away, looking appalled.  
"Do not talk about things you don't have a clue of!"  
He retreated several steps, disgusted that he had been touched, disgusted by Metatron's all too human reasoning, disgusted that something within him responded to it. Metatron was right and he hated it. _No, Michael was right to punish me for my actions!_ , the angel thought, trying to counteract his feelings, _He had to follow the laws. It was kind of him to give me a second chance._ But he didn't have to treat him like scum, another part of him mentioned. _I'd do the same_ , he reasoned with himself. Maybe he would, but he noticed that is was wrong. _Michael is the representative of God, he can never be wrong._ He shook his head. _I mustn't fall for his trap!_  
Refocused he turned his attention back to his fellow angel. For a moment the two of them stared at each other silently, each estimating the other. It was Metatron who broke the silence: "Tell me where he is."  
"For you to do what exactly to him?", Uriel huffed.  
Metatron's answer was calm and even: "To take from him what he values most." He had decid-ed to be perfectly honest with Uriel. If he wanted to pull him to his side, he'd have to be. "His pride is what keeps him going. That and his unique rank among the angels. His purity is the fundament of his pride. I shall take that from him."  
For the second time in his long life, Uriel shuddered. The normality with which Metatron spoke those words shocked him. But he listened.  
"I'll rip off his wings, turning him into a demon. Then I'll toss him down to Hell, to where his older brother resides. This is the worst shame he can be given."  
Dark blue eyes widened in horror at the mere imagination.  
Sensing the other's disapproval the chief of the virtues resumed talking, set to win Uriel's sup-port.

"You don't have to be present when it happens. Just tell me where you hid him."  
Rendered speechless Uriel shook his head. He'd never subject Michael to such treatment, no matter what. He simply couldn't, especially since he knew the torture of being rid of a swing.  
Metatron's brows furrowed. "Why won't you listen to sense? It's not like he'd do a quarter of the same for you if your positions were reversed. Still you defend him."  
"It is every angel's duty to give his life for the highest one.", Uriel managed to say, making Metatron scoff. "And in hundred years you will die through his hand! Or worse, he'll cut off your remaining wing."  
Incredulously for the once-human Uriel merely inclined his head in acknowledgement of that fact. _Those angels! Self-righteous, sado-masochistic idiots! As if they are all brainwashed!_ He could not understand how Uriel could willingly accept torture and death just because it was imprinted on him that whatever Michael decided was undebatable correct. But then ... _They ARE all brain-washed._ He looked at the taller one with pity. There was only one last means left to convince Uriel he could resort to. One of his hands stole into his pocket, conjuring the second tiny figu-rine he'd stolen out of Michael's private conference-room. He held it out for Uriel to examine.  
"If you won't hand him over to me for your own sake, do so for the one he sentenced along with you."  
"Raguel!", the dark-haired exclaimed confused as he glimpsed into the tiny marble face of his most devoted friend.  
"Yes, Raguel.", Metatron confirmed. "Though he did not do him any harm, Michael chose to punish him for your betrayal."

Uriel bit his lip. "It can't be.", he whispered. Raguel was among the most faithful angels he knew. The archangel never failed an order, never questioned the higher motives. _Yet for some unknown reason he chose to value my orders the most. I understand Michael's decision. If Raguel has to choose where his loyalties lie the outcome isn't granted and that is a threat_ , he thought. Still it pained him that his friend should pay for his crimes. Though Raguel would never hear it, in-wardly he begged: _Please forgive me. I simply cannot betray Michael to that degree._ Raguel would understand. Maybe, when Michael woke, things appeared in a different light. Maybe he'd spare the archangel when he was convinced Uriel acted alone.

Watching Uriel closely Metatron started to smirk, he was sure he'd won him over. But the smirk morphed into an expression of disbelieving wrath when he rose his head and declared deter-mined: "Whatever you say to me, I won't hand over Michael."  
"Wha-" "And if you don't have anything else to discuss with me I'll take my leave now."  
Aware that he still did not know if William was in apparent danger the angel turned on his heel and started to walk away. It was the wisest he could do in that moment. His mind was racing, guilt for pulling Raguel into this mess, horror over the terrible plan Metatron had just revealed and distress over participating halfway in it clouded his mind, tainting his judgement. All he could possibly say from now on would most probably be uttered in anger, heating up the argu-ment. If he brought up William in that discussion Metatron might get nasty ideas or use his charge to force him to go along with his schemes.

"You can't be serious!", Metatron called after him. He didn't react.  
"You will surrender him to me!", the other's voice continued furiously.

Metatron leapt to the air, landing in front of him, blocking his way. His wrath was barely con-strained, his voice tense with dangerous coldness.  
"If you're not with me, I must consider you a foe."  
Uriel shook his head, signalling there was no need for him to think twice. One look in Metatron's boiling eyes confirmed he was stepping in dangerous territory. Turning his head slightly he tried to guess the distance in which Sandalphon was standing, calm and unmoving like a rock. The giant angel showed no emotion at all, though Uriel was sure he'd jump on the train of his brother's anger as soon as it transpired that he did not play along. This must be what Michael had felt like last night, only that he had been sure of victory since he held the greatest power. Uriel, on his part, was very aware he stood no chance. Metatron's power could almost draw level with that of Michael. Sandalphon possessed a lot of corporal strength. Metatron's brown irises projected the same awareness. His momentary superiority appeased him slightly. Retreating some steps he created the impression of giving Uriel some space - a gesture of respect and good intent, rounded up with a genuine smile and completed by an additional pair of raised hands showing off clear palms - while the two meter-high angel approached slowly from behind. The once-archangel did not miss a single motion, no matter what a perfect actor he faced. But what should he do?  
Metatron spoke again: "Say, Uriel: Isn't it time someone takes revenge on Michael?"

The wheels within the angel's brain raced. Could he try a backflip on Sandalphon? He didn't have much information about the giant's reflexes and could only hope that the rule of muscled-men being slow in reaction applied to him. Yet the younger brother was like a wall.

"Isn't this kind of thing your resort, angel of repentance?"  
Maybe launch a faint attack on Metatron, tripping him and pin him to the ground? In regard of the man's freshness and his own devastated state chances were small, and even if he suc-ceeded, Sandalphon would most likely attack.

"Now, don't act as if you don't hear me! Or do you actually start to reconsider my words?"  
His eyes slid to one side. Making it for the middle between the two and fly for it? At the barest movement his wing told him off.

"Now honestly, Uriel!", the short-haired barked, out of patience. "If you decide to join me I shall return rank and glory you lost so long ago. You can be an archangel again." His voice got a menacing subtone. "Should you keep up your defiance you're likely to not make it out of this forest alive."  
The forced calm started to crumble like dried sand. He didn't survive the battle with his superior to die the day after! There must be a way out! His heart beat frankly, his mind working over the situation again and again frantically. They had him cornered. They were stronger, faster.  
The smaller one groped the collar of his robe while calling out insistent: "Think of your beloved William! What will he say if you are dead? Do you want to upset him when his parents already died on him?"  
William! That one word plus the sudden pull near his neck broke the frail chains restraining Uri-el's panic. And then, everything went fast. Time contorted in a blur, one action evoking three reactions, like a domino chain: Uriel reflexively unfolded his wing and latched out at Metatron in a horrified attempt to make him forget about William, to throttle him, to stop him talking, to save himself. Sandalphon reacted fast like a bolt by groping the already hurt wing, ripping Uriel away from Metatron. The brunette landed gasping in the snow and got pinned to the ground by Sandalphon. He glared at Metatron, who smugly rearranged his jacket, smiling contently to himself.  
"So, it seems I pulled the wrong strings earlier.", he hummed. "You won't cooperate for your or Raguel's sake. But surely for William's." In better spirits again he knelt down in front of the old-er, pulling a melodramatic face. "Imagine him, lonely and broken, without his beloved servant. The last of his family gone."  
Uriel continued to glare.  
Metatron went on: "Alone and without protection he'll be easy prey for the devils' whispers. They know to use a grieving heart to their advantage."  
Those words did not fail their impact on the angel. These abominations could manipulate Wil-liam freely when he was gone. Every fiber of his body rebelled against that possibility. He bit his lip. So it came down to the very question he kept avoiding for months: Michael or William? Duty or feeling?  
_Why choose?_ , advised a small voice off the back of his consciousness, _Why let anyone force an either-or upon you?_ Just because he couldn't see a way to forgo the choice didn't mean there wasn't any. Wasn't that what God had shown humankind time and time again by sending his angels to perform wonders in his name? Trust, never lose faith, believe in Good and it will work out. One couldn't exactly state that Uriel had stayed on the path of righteousness with his ex-cursions to Hell and recent uprising against Michael, some little sins such as gambling and bet-ting which occurred in his life as a human man included, nonetheless he had unwavering faith in God and the rightfulness of Heaven, regardless of personal conflicts in the Solomon-reincarnation-affair. So, he wouldn't choose. Or better, he chose to save Michael from Meta-tron's creep as well as William from other angels' approaches. With renewed spirit he relaxed slightly. He shut his eyelids, drew a couple of deep breaths, cleared his mind and began to sing in a low tenor***:

"But you, LORD, are a shield around me,  
my glory, the One who lifts my head high.  
I call out to th-" ****

As soon as Metatron noticed what Uriel was doing and sensed the magic building up he shouted at his brother to stop his singing. Sandalphon immediately grabbed the messy dark-brown hair to pull the angel's head up and shoved a big hand over his mouth. Still a part of the chant came to work already, creating a coat of warm light around Uriel which turned brighter and hotter until Sandalphon had to let go of him to cover his eyes and to prevent burning. Uriel took the oppor-tunity to get back onto his feet. The encircling light was reflected by the drops of melted snow in his hair and on his skin, which, together with his messed up hair, burns and scratches from the former fight and the utmost loathful sneer on his normally handsome face, let him look every bit like the vengeful angel he was entitled as.

"Arise, LORD!  
Deliver me, my God!  
Strike all my enemies on the jaw;  
break the teeth of the wicked."****

His voice tuned clear and mighty over the forest clearing, provoking the winds to begin an an-gry dance. A storm spiralled around the trio, drawing in on them, ripping at their bodies. Meta-tron and Sandalphon were beaten by walls of solid air, whereas Uriel, protected by an invisible shield, remained unharmed. While his opposers were occupied with the spell the one-winged angel unfolded his wing - shortly wincing when he felt the ache it induced - and prepared to escape. But Metatron was faster; he hit him directly between the shoulder blades with a hasty bolt of energy, burning fabric and skin alike as well as some base-feathers from the wing-root. Uriel cried out. For a short moment he was paralyzed by the amount of pain - a moment in which his concentration was broken and the howling wind disappeared within the blink of an eye. Free to move again Metatron hurled his fury directly at Uriel. The brutal fight that erupted was witnessed by a pair of disbelieving light blue eyes.

Sitri had found the mansion devastated, its inhabitants fled. He immediately knew a battle had been fought, but neither could he find victims nor victors. The grounds around the house were marred by destruction as if a meteor had crashed. The snow had been littered with feathers and blood. Naturally he had returned to Hell and reported his findings to William and an ex-tremely torn Isaac - should he cherish at the thought that his home had been the setting for a holy fight or should he worry about his family more? He had had a hard time calming William down so that they could discuss how to proceed. Needless to say letting the boys return to the scene was out of question for him. The result was that William promised to stay in his room and quiet so - during his absence his uncle better not knew about their guest - if Sitri went to find 'Kevin'. On top he was obliged to help him if he could. Well, he'd probably have done that any-way, considering the efforts it had taken to convince Uriel to teach him. The angel was of no use to him dead. And not least - but he'd never admit it - he understood the angel's im-portance in William's life, if he liked it or not. Uriel was like a mixture of brother and parental figure to the blonde. Sitri wasn't unfamiliar to the hurt of losing one's family.

Finding Uriel hadn't been easy, the angel's magical signature was all over the place and scat-tered in the air. Only when he felt the enormous aura of a psalm-chant he was able to track him down. As fast as he could he flew in the direction of the energy force, to arrive at a combat-scene. Apart from Uriel he could make out two other angels as he hid behind a large tree trunk. One held his tutor in a brutal grip while the other rammed his knee into Uriel's stomach and face, shouting that he absolutely didn't like to be declined, whatever he referred to. He said something else, cooler this time, that Siti wasn't able to catch, but on Uriel's lips he could read his return: "Never!"  
Unpleased the other angel aimed another kick at Uriel's stomach, after which he spluttered blood.  
While Sitri wondered how to get the once archangel out of his misery the head of the tallest angel snapped up. He leaned over to whisper something to the smallest one, who answered briskly. He then released Uriel and began marching up to where Sitri was hiding. Noticing the angel's advance the demon swore, turned on the spot and fled. Sitri hurried through the woods, the angel on his heels. Unfortunately the giant was faster than him and managed to get a hold of one of the silvery long strands trailing behind as he ran, gripping it hard. As expected Sitri fell back. Tearing at his hair to free himself he glowered at the tall figure towering over him. The angel's eyes were barely visible beneath his long bangs, but even without them his face radiated indifference.  
"A demon?", he wondered. Sitri stayed silent, still tucking on his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * It is said that a certain kind of angels, the Grigori (Greek for "watchers"), were sent all over the world to watch and survey humankind. They started to feel drawn towards human women and mated with them. The children born from those couples were powerful giants, called Nephilim, who held too much power to be allowed to roam free. The great flood was a means to rid the earth of those creatures and after that most of the Grigori were banned from Heaven.  
> At least that is what I came across during my angeology-research.
> 
> ** According to Christian believe the sin of disobeying and eating the apple passes down from Ad-am and Eve to all their offsprings. Each baby is born as a sinner and is being purified by baptism. If a newborn died before receiving baptism it could not go to Heaven but would end up in Hell for its inherited sin, so back in the Middle Ages parents often asked priests to baptise dead children, pre-tending they died afterwards, to smuggle them into paradise.
> 
> *** The angels are sorted into choirs which sing or play instruments to let certain things happen. The book of revelation for example states that the catastrophes leading to the end of the world are initiated by seven angels playing their trumpets and accompanied by the choir's singing. In the Manga Uriel uses chants as well, once to cause the wormwood-rain and again to launch a wide-range attack down in Hell against Pluto's forces.
> 
> **** Lines taken from bible psalm 3.


	17. Chapter 17

17

“Geez, what is taking him so long?”  
William walked the room in circles and chewed on his thumb. Sitri’s room lacked a clock, so he had to relent to his senses to estimate time, and it felt as though hours had passed since Sitri departed. He could only imagine one reason for his elongated absentness: He couldn’t find Kev-in. And if Kevin wasn’t to be found he was either back in Heaven or in distress. Somehow Wil-liam trusted in Sitri’s ability to find anyone if he really wanted to. Damn, not knowing what was going on drove him mad! Especially after Sitri had come back with news of a devastated man-sion earlier.  
The blonde shot a menacing glare at his friend who lay spread over the soft cushions, snoring lazily. At sunrise – he assumed it must have been around morning in the world above, there were no windows in this room – Isaak had succumbed to his fatigue and fallen asleep. Much to William’s dismay, since he now had to deal with his worries all by himself. How could anyone sleep soundly knowing his family’s house had been destroyed and his parents were missing? He sighed in defeat, his gaze softened. Poking Isaak wouldn’t help the situation. Silently he en-vied the boy for his ability to sleep so peacefully on a day like that. He paced over to the canapé and let himself slump on it next to the red-head. His head dropped back on the rack, letting him glimpse at the delicately engraved ceiling. Everything in this palace-like room was some-how decorated. It was almost too much for one’s eyes. And yet the room held nothing to oc-cupy his thoughts with. Nothing but a wardrobe, cushions, sweets and decorum. He idly won-dered what Sitri spent his time with when he was at home. Time dragged on like a snail-race. Fatigue claimed his limbs and his whole body felt as if it weighed tons, his heavy eyelids rolled shut. His mind got clouded and unfocused. Still, sleep didn't bless him with an appearance.

A loud crash startled him out of his position. Isaak, next to him, was also shocked out of his dreams. "What was that?", the red-haired boy wanted to know. Eyes livid with the rush of adrenaline they both scanned the room for the source of the commotion, yet couldn't see any-thing out of order. Another crash sounded, accompanied by a soft shake of the entire mansion that was barely noticeable and alas the more disconcerting because the low shockwave went through the core of their bodies. The unwelcome sensation the release of adrenaline caused within one's gut prompted William to jump to his feet. Needing to act he made his way towards the door, set on researching the incident.  
"Wait!", Isaak stuttered, "We promised to stay in here! You can't leave the room!"  
William huffed, but stopped, his hand resting on the handle. Without turning he murmured: "I am sick of waiting." "But William-" The blonde was already pushing the handle down as a clutter behind him and a shriek of Isaak made him whirl around.  
In the middle of the room hovered the remnants of a portal, fading fast. Below lay two familiar figures crashed hard down on the smooth carpet. The first thing William noticed was red. Red everywhere. The two figures were drenched in blood and oddly arranged on the floor. His mind agonizingly slowly processed the scene that enfolded. Sitri struggled himself free off the entan-glement with the other figure, slightly unsteady as he finally managed to stand. Blood trickled down his forehead, lip and neck. Somehow he looked different. It dawned on William that one of his long strands of hair was missing - no, not entirely missing, but hardly longer than the rest of his hair anymore. He looked as if someone dragged him through a puddle of mud. Slowly, very slowly, another realization dawned on him. As if in slow-motion his head turned towards the figure still sprawled on the floor. If that was Sitri, than this was-  
A raspy cry of terror escaped his throat. Kevin! With this thought he started to shiver violently. Kevin... He managed to take three wobbly steps in his direction. One glimpse confirmed his dread: It indeed was Kevin... There he lay, eyes closed, clothes torn, skin bruised, limbs stick-ing out in wrong angles. His wing was no longer white and majestic, no, it was brownish and dirty and crusted with blood and several bleak spots showed. His eyes snapped back to the still face. Thoughts raced through his head, too fast to catch, too many to grasp one in particular; his mind was blocked. He was aware he should move, go over and help, shake him awake, call out to him, test his breathing, anything. His body just wouldn't move. All he could do was stare.  
He didn't notice Isaak hurrying over to a heavy panting Sitri, steadying his stand, nor Sitri nudg-ing the boy away to come over to him. He didn't hear his name being called, did not feel the hands gripping his shoulders shake him. Only after Sitri pinched his ear hard his brain clicked back into place. "Kevin!", he uttered, "What is- why- how- ...?"  
His voice sounded thin.

His pupils followed every motion of Sitri desperately, as if glued to the only person able to reas-sure him that his Kevin was alright, when the demon withdrew a hand to rub his tired eyes. William was overly aware of Sitri’s slender wrist, the angle in which it bowed when he moved his hand, the long, dark lashes in contrast to milky-white skin. His brain scanned each ever so small detail it could access – every movement, noise, hidden gesture of the lips – while simultane-ously shutting out the obvious message. There were only three words he craved to hear. He needed Sitri to say that Kevin would be fine. That it looked worse than it really was. That angels were tough and after a short nap his butler would open his eyes fit and fresh. He.needed.to.know.that.HE.WAS.FINE!  
When those intense blue eyes opened seconds later and met his the look he received made him eager to accept another possibility as well: He’d be fine with Sitri telling him that it was all a dream. Yes, that was okay.  
Sitri’s lips parted.  
“There were two angels. They fought, I don’t know why.”  
A joke would be fine as well.  
“They were too strong, so all I could do was escape.” The demon bit his lip heavily at the memory of events he wouldn’t voice out to William. The vicious attack of the short-haired angel, himself running towards Uriel who got hit full-force, falling out of the sky, himself opening a por-tal down where the angel would meet the ground, colliding with the unconscious body as he hurried to follow him through the saving door ... He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to succumb to shock! He had to keep going for William.  
William, whose eyes stared at him, big as children’s eyes, seemingly ununderstanding.  
“Uriel –“

Now was the moment that Sitri would tell him that Kevin was NOT alright, William realised. If he said it it would become an inevitable truth. He wasn’t prepared. His head couldn’t handle it. He wouldn’t hear it. He covered his ears with his hands, pressing tightly, and shut his eyes.  
No! No no no no no NO! Kevin was alright! Kevin was okay!

He could not recall how he got there, but the next thing he knew was that he sat on the floor crying. He became aware when Sitri gently put his hands on his, pulling them down. The silver-haired gave him a soft smile before he wrapped his arms around him. William dove into the embrace, losing himself in hopeless tears as he could no longer shut out the facts.  
For Sitri it was hard to bear William crying in his arms. Never had he been the person of comfort for anyone. What should he do? To see his friend so broken hurt.

Finally he motioned for Isaak to take over and hurried on shaky legs over to a small cabinet William hadn’t noticed until then, cramming several drawers. He returned with a cup, a pitcher, a bundle of thin gauze and a handful of dried herbs. It appeared the pitcher was already filled with water, wherever from. With a flick of his hand the demon produced enough energy to make the water boil. Then, after wiping a tinge of blood off his lashes, he made a bundle of a portion of herbs wrapped in gauze, dumped it in the cup and filled it with hot water. He downed the tea in one go, immediately feeling the healing effect of catnip, rosemary and peppermint.  
After a moment of recovery he set to work on another package of tea-herbs, this time much bigger. Apart from catnip, rosemary and peppermint he added thyme and chamomile for the nearly dead angel. Following the mantra Much does much good he tossed the bundle directly into the pitcher. While the herbs incubated he also prepared bandages for Uriel’s many wounds: Straps of gauze with elder, Echinacea, comfrey and yarrow. This done he made his way over to the heap that was Uriel and settled to work, all at once sensing William’s eyes intently on his back.  
_Even if it isn’t enough to safe him, trying at least calms William’s nerves_ , he thought. Yes, for Wil-liam’s wellbeing it was worth to gulp down his dignity and play nurse for the sworn enemy.

A considerable amount of time later the angel’s wounds were all cleaned with a cloth tinctured with the tea and treated, his torn attire replaced by a loose garment (in fact it was just a linen they’d coiled around him) and they even managed to get the tea into him. The patient looked much better now. They placed him on the ground on a pile of cushions. That way they had the possibility to completely enfold his wing. Sitri took in the picture of broken keels, roasted tips and browned feathers. A despondent sigh escaped his lungs.  
William came over. To the demon’s relief the boy was out of the woods now. He watched what Sitri was doing for a moment, then they set to work together in silence – cleaning feathers, picking ruined ones, covering open wounds – until the constant banging around the house re-turned to their consciousness.

“What is that noise?”, Sitri wondered, frowning.  
“We heard it before you came back as well.”, Isaak, who had been sitting in a corner of the room in silence, not knowing what to do, remembered.  
Sitri bit his lower lip. _Please don’t let it have to do anything with Uriel being in Hell!_ Though it wasn’t that probable if Isaak was correct about the noise starting before the angel arrived. Otherwise, what could it be?

A knock at the door startled the group. Sitri’s eyes directly darted to Uriel in panic. _If they find him ...!_  
Whoever it was knocked again.  
Gulping down his paralysation the blue-eyed answered through the door: “Yes?”  
“Master Sitri, it’s Leonard!”  
Thank God, it was just the cook! Sitri’s shoulders slumped, some tension squibbed.  
“I’m not in need of your service!”, he called out.  
A short silence followed.  
“I’m not here to deliver anything, Sitri-sama.”, Leonard sounded uncomfortable, and Sitri would know why in no time, “Master Baalberith wishes to speak to you.”  
Again in high alert the young demon tensed, demanding: “What does he want?” _It’s no good. If uncle wants to see me..._ He stared at Uriel’s rampaged feathers. Baalberith had a nasty habit of knowing anything. And he knew to deploy his knowledge.  
“Master Sitri?”


	18. Chapter 18

Absentmindedly he watched a small drop of blood building over the tiny wound on pale skin. He picked another feather and watched the process repeat itself. The thin fluid pressed itself through the small hole, protective of the hurt spot. He picked another one. And another one. Around him the carpet was layered with brown feathers. The procedure had something calming about it. Comb through the feathers, find split ones, pull them out. Find burnt ones, pull them out. Find broken ones, pull them out. However dull a task it was, it gave his hands something to do while his head pondered over the days’ events.

 

_“Master Baalberith wishes to speak to you.”_   
_His blood ran cold when he heard those words. Like a lost duckling he’d stumbled around his room, gripping clothes, carrying them three steps, dropping them to the ground again, acting without really knowing what he was doing. Baalberith shouldn’t have known he was there in the first place, let alone call him! If he knew of his presence what else did he know? Did he know about the boys? Did he know about Uriel? He always knew things he shouldn’t._   
_“Just give me time to change!”, he’d stammered at the door. He needed to get a clear mind imme-diately. Something that was quiet difficult given the throbbing he felt in his temple where the giant almost pulled his hair out._   
_The boys stared at him, he could feel their gazes._   
_“You’re limping.”, Isaak said after a moment of silence. “And bleeding.”_   
_The red haired adolescent came over to him, gently laying a hand on the demon’s shoulder. With William having a psychological breakdown and Sitri marred by a fight the people usually keeping a cool head were rendered useless. It seemed to prompt Isaak to take a position he’d never be calm enough to fulfil under normal circumstances: the leading position. Tentatively he looked around the room._   
_“You need to wash.”, he said to Sitri. “Do you have water and a cloth somewhere? And your hair is ruined...”_   
_Thanks to the boy’s initiative, Sitri was presentable some minutes later and carefully stepped out of the door where Leonard was waiting for him. When he closed the door and began marching in the direction of his uncle’s lounge the butler cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “You shall bring the elector with you.”_   
_Sitri stared at him. He knew!_   
_Almost mechanically he turned with a slight sway, opened the door and called for the blonde, who answered equally mechanical. They surely were done for, both thought. This was it._

_“How nice to have you back home for once!”, Baalberith greeted them. He had his back towards them, standing by a table, pouring himself a glass of wine. “At least it seems your efforts have paid o-“_   
_He turned while he spoke. When his eyes fell on Sitri he stopped talking abruptly, his brows wrin-kled. A low snarling noise escaped the king’s throat as he inspected Sitri. “He dared to lay a hand on you?!” With more disdain he added: “And you were inferior to this worthless Nephilim?”_   
_With three steps he was at Sitri. He grabbed his jaw and forced the completely puzzled white-haired to look up. “Playing around in the human realm isn’t healthy for you.”, he growled, “You’ll stay were you belong from now on, as you should have to begin with!” Sitri lacked the strength to complain. Strangely appeased by the absence of any reaction the demon’s lips curled into a sly smile. Releas-ing his nephew – who at the moment indeed appeared as lively as a porcelain doll – and turning his attention toward William he continued: “Though I must admit I am proud you managed to win over our precious elector, finally. So shall we prepare the election to end this farce soon?”_

Sitri squeezed his eyes shut, a futile effort to block out the dumb pain in the back of his head. He didn’t want to recall the whole scene. It was all completely messed up! Apparently those annoying little bats of Dantalion had been watching William move in Hell with Sitri. Of course they had to snitch! And Dantalion directly assumed he’d kidnapped William, as if it was that un-likely for William to spend time with him! ... Okay, he in fact did kidnap the adolescent. But any-one should know that he’d never hurt William, other than Dantalion. The duke was dangerous.  
Now he sat here with an angel illegally hidden in his chamber, while William was with Dantalion, because that idiot had to attack his uncle’s manor, screaming for the boy to be let free, which was the reason Baalberith knew of them being there, which was the reason they were called in that moment of chaos and had to make up a completely ludicrous story about William having made up his mind about choosing Sitri and needing protection from the other candidates and Sitri’s condition being the result of an attack, what made Baalberith sneer at him because now he thought of him as incapable and weak, but luckily declared to protect the elector, only that Dantalion started a whole commotion the next day, shouting about investigating a destroyed house, tracks of angels, the idiot, THE IDIOT, causing William to panic that the demon king might find out about Uriel and kill him, making him run through the battlefield toward Dantalion to appease him, but he of course couldn’t explain the situation, and Dantalion took him and HIS HEAD WAS ABOUT TO EXPLODE!!!! He rammed his fists into the soft carpet, crying out in anger and despair. Helpless tears forced their way out. What should he do?

“This is all your fault!”, he shouted at the half-dead angel. If he hadn’t been here Sitri could have gone after William. If he hadn’t been here, there wouldn’t have been any need for William to go with Dantalion. But if Sitri left and someone discovered Uriel meanwhile, William would never forgive him. All there was left for him to do was wait.  
Fortunately his uncle set him under arrest. Otherwise he would have had to imagine an excuse why he couldn’t charge after the precious elector. So Baalberith sent a group of his soldiers, led by Gilles, to free the boy.

~*~

“Thank you!”  
Isaak smiled at Leonard, who brought him back.  
“Hmpf.”, was all the answer the sheep butler gave. “I’ll be off then.”  
Said and done, the demon vanished in the blink of an eye. It was still so cool for the boy to wit-ness.

In the human world snow whirled wildly, one could barely see beyond the own boots. He should be somewhere around his home. Deciding that walking was better than standing about clueless in the biting cold he wandered slowly into the direction his nose was pointing.  
Now that he was back in the human realm thoughts about William and Hell were superseded into the back of his head, worry for his family grew. From the few words Sitri told him he learned that his house was completely destroyed. Hopefully everyone was save!

After a short walk he could make out shouts in the distance: “Isaak! Isaak!” “William?” “Boys, where are you?”  
They were looking for them! He recognised his parents’ voices, so they were alright!  
Relieved he hastened his step. He wanted to answer their calls: “I’m h-“ as something landed in the snow directly in front of him. He almost ran into the figure.  
The landed creature drew itself up. Enormous wings divided the swirls of raging snow. It was an angel.  
_Cooohoool!_ , the red-had thought excitedly.  
The creature flashed him a bright smile. Something about him was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger at it.  
“Isaak?”, the angel asked. His voice was warm and gentle. Isaak nodded, and the angel pro-ceeded: “Where is William?”  
“Uhm...” Was it alright to tell an angel that his best friend was in Hell? If Heaven had a record for this kind of thing William might get in trouble later. Just in case, better not bespeak it. “He’s... busy?”, he asked more than answered. The angel’s smile didn’t subside. “Oh?”, he made, cock-ing his head, “Is that so? In that case I’ll have to relent to you, I guess.”  
“Okay...”  
The angel seemed so trusting, Isaak didn’t think for a second that he might be in danger. That he felt somehow familiar in his presence added up to him being completely off his guard, if he ever was on guard. Eager to participate in more paranormal activity, his cheeks flushed, he waited for the other to resume talking. The angel sensed his guilelessness.  
In a most casual tone he questioned: “Could you tell me where to find Michael?”  
“Michael??”, Isaak wondered aloud. “Why Michael? I didn’t see him since that trial-misery.” Why would some angel ask him or William where to find their leader? “Has he gone missing?”  
The angel laughed, and suddenly Isaak knew whom he resembled. “He, are you somehow re-lated to Sean?” Clearly amused the angel snickered. In a floating motion the tall manly figure morphed into the small frame of Sean Christian, happily chirping: “Nailed it!”  
Stripped of his wings in this form the little boy spread his arms wide into the flocky mist. He then began to pivot like a gyroscope, very slow, surveying the gusts of snowflakes following his movements. “You guys really got me fooled, my regards. Feinting to be kidnapped by the de-mon, hiding from the fight ... Did you watch us from your shelter? And then you sent the de-mon back to save Uriel. Clever!” His tone changed as sudden as he stopped his movement, too close to Isaak to be comfortable. A weird aura emanated from him. “I was so angry I would have killed him.” Said that his expression changed rapidly again, back to merry and easy-going. “But luckily I didn’t! So, where did you hide? Where are Uriel and Michael?”

~*~

“Bring me back immediately!”, William demanded angrily. “This is an order!”  
“Pah!”  
Dantalion held firmly onto William’s arm. Though he was told around the hundredth time to re-turn him to Baalberith’s house, Dantalion simply refused to oblige. He didn’t understand how the demon could neglect direct orders. He’d make sure to investigate the workings of those contracts Solomon sealed with his pillars as soon as he got the chance.  
“What did Sitri do to you, huh?!”  
Dantalion forced him to look at him by putting his hands on William’s shoulders. He looked hon-estly worried but William didn’t have the spirit to acknowledge it. He was tired and worried him-self, plus thoroughly irritated that Dantalion had to barge into the situation on top of all. As if it hadn’t been complicated enough without him! And now the whole redundant idiocy of demon A badmouthing demon B and his motives started again. No – not this time! Determined to make this a short conversation William pushed Dantalion’s hands away.  
“Okay, listen!”, he said urgently, “I won’t hear it! Sitri did not do anything to me! Save me the ranting on his intentions! There is a valid reason why I’ve been with him and for that reason I want you to deliver me back as soon as possible! And if you question me any further I’ll take it as personal insult that you doubt my prudence!!” He underlined his words with a stern glare. When the demon failed to react fast enough the boy snapped. “I do not have time for this non-sense!”, he shouted. “I need to go back to him! I will never forgive you if he- if... if...” Alongside his words it all came back up, choking his voice with each word more until it was only a whisper. William bit his lip. _Focus! Focus, William!_ Dantalion noticed the tears William refused to cry and pulled him into an embrace. Lacking the strength to fight, the boy let it happen. Even before Dantalion could ask what happened words broke out of the shaken teenager, busting the dykes for the tears.  
“He might actually die! I cannot lose him ... I can’t ...”

Half an hour the boy cried in Dantalion’s arms. When he calmed down enough he shoved the demon away, embarrassed. Unfortunately, Dantalion now was triggered. Head-on he demanded to be told the whole story. Of course William refused. They broke into a quarrel.  
“If it’s not Sitri, then who is it you were talking about?”  
“That’s none of your business!”  
“Everything concerning you is my business!”  
“I am not your possession!”  
“Apropos possession: Why is whoever is dying at the Western king’s manor?”  
“This is also not your business!”  
“I won’t let you go until I know who it is.”  
“This is abduction!”  
“Who is it?”  
“You’re driving me nuts with ignoring every rational argument!”  
“Who were you talking about?”  
“What is it with your stubbornness?!”  
“Who’s so important to you?”  
“We’re not having this conversation!”  
“William, who!”  
“Stop it!”  
“Who?!”  
“Shut up already!”  
“Who?”  
“KEVIN, DAMNIT!”  
“What?!”

They stared at each other in shocked silence, William because he let himself lose his nerves, Dantalion because... well, it was a huge impact. Uriel being in hell, Uriel being hurt by someone powerful, why, when, where? Why was he in hell now? Why was he so important to William? His lips formed a thin line. This needed elaboration.  
“What happened to Uriel?”  
William looked down. “I do not know.”  
“Why is he –“ “I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!”  
Dantalion’s facial expression changed from surprised to angry to hurt.  
“Why is he so important to you?”, he wanted to know, his voice soft. “He is an angel. He is the enemy.”  
Now it was William’s turn to get angry. “I don’t care about your animosities. The quarrels be-tween you guys don’t concern me.”  
“Maybe more than you think.”  
Once more the black-haired took the adolescent by his shoulders.  
“William, Uriel is dangerous! Whatever he told you, all he wants is your soul for Heaven!”  
William huffed: “Same with you.”  
Dantalion looked offended. “That isn’t true!”  
“No? Strange.”  
The demon bit back a comment. “Uriel is more dangerous to you than any demon could be. The power you hold – Solomon’s powers – are useless against angels. If he runs out of pa-tience you’re done for. You should cut ties with him.”  
Slap. William’s hand met the demon’s cheek. “Do not talk about things you do not know.”  
Dry laughter escaped Dantalion’s throat. “I do not know? Sorry, but it’s you who does not know anything. I know Uriel for more than two thousand years! He tortured Solomon day after day to bend him to his will. Always careful to cause as much pain as he could without physical harm – that is your dear Uriel!”  
His arms folded William shot back: “How often do I have to stress that I do not care for the past or Solomon?”  
“Your ignorance will be your death someday!”, the demon barked.  
“You welcomed my ignorance when it came to your killing Solomon! And now bring me back.”


	19. Chapter 19

**19**

 

Of course Dantalion didn’t bring him back. It would have been a nice change if the renitent demon followed his orders just once, William was sure. Though “once” would unfortunately not be today.

“You’re finished when I get out of here!”, the boy shouted while hammering his fists against the door belonging to the room the Duke had locked him in. It was a futile effort he kept up for an hour or so until now. He could swear! Maybe if he did accept the supernatural sooner he’d have mastered a bigger fraction of his ancestor’s powers, enough to free himself and fight his way through the Underworld back to the most important person in his life. Maybe he should have studied harder or asked Kevin to teach him magic after his true identity was conveyed. Surely Kevin was a better teacher than that madman Mathers. Kevin wouldn’t throw him off buildings. Kevin ... He had to get out to see him!

Images of blood and feathers flooded the other way sharp mind. But this time he’d be strong. He wouldn’t cry. The one time he allowed himself to cry it all out in Dantalion’s arms really helped but he’d bite his own feet before admitting that. After that he felt overall more set and able to deal with the matters at hand.

“Open this damn door!”, he ordered again.

William knew Amon and Mamon were guarding the other side and very capable of hearing him. Dantalion had stationed his familiars there when Gilles de Rais appeared to save him. The duke himself must be sparring with the violet menace somewhere. And, unbeknown to the boy, those two would keep fighting for days, which was also lucky, because elsehow the election would have been organized.

 

Those following days would drag on like an eternity not only for William – miles away, in the empire of Hell’s West, Sitri counted endless hours as well.

 

Four days later, on the fifth day of William’s absence and the sixth day of Uriel being in Hell, Uriel stirred for the first time. Sitri had kept changing his herbal infused bandages twice every day, and forced tea into him, and it seemed the effort paid off. At least that meant one weight less on his shoulders. Chances had been high Uriel could have entered the death sleep.

He noticed it in the evening when he was removing the old bandages again; behind closed lids the angel’s eyes moved. Two or three hours later his eyes opened slowly. Clearly dazed they tried to focus on something - it was no wonder, regarding the amount of poppy he was infused with. They found Sitri sitting on the couch, munching lemon biscuits while lazily skimming through a catalogue of grape vine he got from Sean back at Stradford months ago to kill time. The demon was oblivious to his observer until an agonized groan reached his ears. When realizing whom he was staring at Uriel reflexively had tried to roll around and stand up. The tremendous pain of a thousand needles piercing skin and flesh as he strained his muscles to move was enough to stop him, though. The injuries Metatron gave him rendered him incapable of movement. For an instant overly aware of his body his senses stormed his foggy brain with data: Breathing too deep hurt, probably broken ribs, damaged viscera; moving his limbs ached, possibly a sign for bruised muscles; some parts of his body he could not move at all, bones were broken, tendons disrupted.

Alerted, Sitri got up from the canapé and advanced. “Don’t move, you’re injured.”, he said carefully. “You will only reopen your wounds.”

Uriel was quite aware of that fact, he’d have to stay still for now, inconvenient as it may be in the presence of demons. Even if he reached an agreement with Sitri, caution was the key, for no demon could ever be trusted.

 

He briefly scanned his surroundings. “Where am I?”

His voice was rasp and dry, barely audible. Still Sitri understood and answered, evading: “Somewhere safe.” Would it be wise to tell an angel that he was currently stationed in Hell? Was it possible to keep it a secret from the angel? Or would it only get worse if he found out he hadn’t been told?

Instinctively Sitri’s eyes followed the movements of Uriel’s. Simultaneously their gazes found the countless feathers littering the floor all around the angel. Uriel’s eyes grew wide. Fearing the worst he breathed: “What have you done?”, for he could not clearly distinguish all his body parts in the turmoil of agony. Not daring to turn his head to check for his wing he waited for the demon’s response, his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

“If you worry about that you must be better than I thought.” Sitri sighed, returning to his seat. “Be reassured, you still are an angel. Just not as pristine as usual. More plucked ... You look like a fringed, moulting duckling.”

Uriel glared at him. Inexplicably it gave Sitri a feeling of normality within these messed up days. So he added: “A singed duckling.”, which deepened the angel’s glare. Sitri couldn’t help it, he had to grin. But as soon as his delight had come it discharged, when Uriel wanted to know: “Where is William?”

 

~*~

 

Icy. That was the best way to describe the atmosphere. Cold as a bare blade of steel. A coldness laden with finality. Nothing one could have said to ease the encumbering failure.

Be it in the South, where Amon and Mamon wasted futile efforts to appease a fuming William, or in the West, where Uriel, damned to stay motionless, fined Sitri with silence for not being able to keep William safe, and for dragging him down to the one place he never wished to return to. No, these days weren’t friendly ones. Not a single person without regret, not a single person not hurt in some way. But even those days must be endured, as hard as it might be.

So William sat in his new golden cage, waiting.

Gilles tried his hardest to free him, losing more and more of his master’s favour every day.

Dantalion fought all attacks, aware that his protection was unwanted.

Uriel took his time to regenerate, stiffly ignoring his surroundings.

Sitri healed as well, incarcerated with the more than angry angel.

Isaak’s parents gave up their desperate search for their son and his three holiday guests.

And in Heaven, red eyes opened, filled with burning hatred.


	20. Chapter 20

**20**

 

 

"You're aware gluttony is a deadly sin?", Uriel asked dryly.

"Pride is either.", Sitri retorted, devouring another biscuit.

 

After two weeks Uriel had healed enough to sit up and carefully flex his wing. It didn’t really help to ease his boredom, though. As a means to occupy himself he had begun watching Sitri – as a former Watcher he was well trained. Here and there he uttered snide remarks, especially when Sitri returned from the meetings with his uncle with nothing but bad news in tow. William was still in Dantalion’s hands and the light haired demon simply refused to go after him, insisting on having to protect the angel in William’s interest.

 

Right now Uriel stared accusingly at the demon again, who was clearly uneasy with being surveyed this intensely. Out of sheer insubordination he stuffed his mouth with four biscuits at a time, making Uriel growl in response. Coping with rebelliousness was not on his list of talents. ... Coping _well_ with it was not on his list of talents. Disposing of rebels was another matter. Unfortunately he had to restrain himself in case of his young master’s demon friends. Albeit, he could still indulge in missionary work until William overcame his demon-peeve.

“Just because you don’t have to eat doesn’t mean I can’t!”, Sitri nagged eventually. Uriel suppressed a victorious grin. It was all too easy to influence Sitri, as he had learned over the past days. He was like a youngling, inexperienced in the big game. _Yet_. Baalberith had kept him away from most interactions with anyone but his household, it shone through. That might come in handy later, if Uriel would still be alive. Momentarily it merely served as entertainment. Of course, theoretically an angel neither needed nor should seek entertainment, but considering that he had to deviate himself from his actual surroundings and the inner urge to set it all ablaze he assumed it was alright for now.

“You’re not eating out of hunger.”, the angel reprimanded, keeping a straight face. “If you’re going to be my disciple I demand decent behaviour.”

Grumbling the demon put the tin away. _All too easy_. Even if he had already obliged Sitri shot back: “It’s not like you could refuse to train me, anyway. We already have a contract.”

 

Two days later, he noticed, the demon was munching fruit instead of bakery, demonstratively before his eyes. He raised a brow, but kept his amusement and astonishment to himself. So being trained was pretty important to Sitri. Important enough maybe to give Uriel leverage? Since there was few he could spend the days with he took his time investigating the scope of influence he had at hand, remarking in a sincere voice: “Even if healthier, it’s gluttony nonetheless.”

Oh, Sitri would love to throw one fruit after another at him, Uriel could read it all over his face. He was prepared to fend of the attack, and utterly unprepared for what Sitri did instead of bombarding him. Wide-eyed he watched the sweet tooth magically elongating the fingernail of his right pinkie, cutting a kiwi into slices with it, then licking the juice off while growing the nail back to original length, and draping the slices decoratively on a cream tarte (he had no idea where that came from, it somehow just was there, suddenly) accompanied by the comment: “In that case I will go back to enjoy it the way I prefer.” He conjured a fork, picked a bite and happily chewed on it. “Do you want to try a piece?”, he offered, grinning, gaining merriment from Uriel’s puzzled disbelief. Uriel on his part felt strangely reminded of Raphael.

 

 

Six days later he was well enough to walk around.

Eight days later he felt as good as new. ... Well, ready for 240 years of sleep at least, but, heeding the necessity to stay awake, he felt the best currently possible. Time to take action again.

 

When Sitri returned from his uncle he already waited for him by the door. He’d had time enough to debate his next steps. This was the first.

Sitri was more than surprised to be greeted with a harsh “Open a portal for me to somewhere outside this house.” He couldn’t do it himself without being spotted instantly. Normally he wouldn’t have cared, but, as things were, it was likely he’d need Sitri again. (And he owed him for saving his life.) It was all a matter of location.

“Excuse me?”, Sitri wondered.

Uriel repeated impatiently: “Send me outside.”

“What are you planning?”

Should he set free a devoted angel in Hell? Whereas, he wasn’t able to retain him anyway.

“It is your decision if they find out how I came in.”, Uriel prompted. Sitri nodded his understanding. “Will you free William?”, he asked. The dark haired gave the hint of a nod.

The demon inquired further: “Once you’ve saved him, what are you going to do?” Light blue eyes bore into darker ones with severity. It was the moment Sitri had dreaded to think of. The moment when things had to progress with too many variables to foresee. “Will you return him to Stradford?” And the most important question Sitri was sure Uriel would not voluntarily answer: “Is he save up there from those who fought you?”

As expected Uriel kept silent, pressing his lips together. He wondered himself. Though, what options did he have, really? Leaving the boy in Hell?

Sitri made no attempt to do anything. He’d have to give some kind of explanation, Uriel noticed, if he wanted to get anywhere. Damn, he depended on a _demon_!

For a good measure of time the angel and the demon faced each other in silence. Uriel brooded over how little information he could give, Sitri waited for him to talk. They would have stood there way longer hadn’t Sitri learned that sometimes diplomacy and a slow approach were more rentable. Angels weren’t diplomatic, they came into being with a rank and kept it until they died. Mostly. Demons had to fight to reach as well as keep status, be it with fangs or words. So Sitri started their talk anew, questioning in a polite, neutral manner: “Your price for our bargain was that I take William to Hell for at least a night. You did not tell me why, but apparently you must have wanted him out of harm’s way.”

The angel attempted to protest, but was interrupted by Sitri’s hurried resumption: “I know you did not imply any such thing, but I am not all naive, you see?” He became severe again. “If you send William down here, it can only be to get him out of reach from something that is not of demonic origin, meaning the thread must be of either human or angelic heritage. I can preclude humans. You would have burnt them to ashes in an instant.” Uriel’s gaze darkened the more the closer Sitri got to the truth. “So it has to be an angel. Or more than one angel. And I know it has to be about William. Would it be about you you’d just have left, fighting your own battles.”

Here Sitri paused, waiting for Uriel to say something. He didn’t. He sighed mentally.

“When I returned to earth I found you in combat with two other angels. Since I took you out of their reach I assume they are still up there, lying in ambush.”

Uriel kept piercing the carpet with silencing stares. _Copped_.

Sitri wasn’t exactly happy with his sheer endless communicativeness, nevertheless continued his slow approach. He wouldn’t let Uriel leave until he had some clues. And he wouldn’t let William get in harm’s way, either. He did not know if the boy liked him, but he certainly loved that boy a lot, maybe even more so than he used to love Solomon. Solomon had been like a big brother, caring and protecting. William, on the other hand, was just William. But being William meant taking people as they were. Even when he complained about things, he gradually accepted everybody, not asking anything of them. When he was with the blonde, he could just be himself, not the obedient doll, not the beautiful token, not a struggling combatant. In reverse, Sitri had sworn to himself to protect him.

Cautiously he eyed the angel. For whatever reason Uriel bore merely a single wing. He lost his rank as archangel and fourth of Heaven, and according to it some influence. As far as he knew about the physical boundaries Uriel might have lost half his divine powers as well. So, there were several angels higher ranking and stronger than him – his uncle once told him only a higher ranking angel could dare to attack a weaker one, or angels of the same status. But what exactly was the status of a half-fallen Seraph? He wouldn’t be able to guess the attackers’ identities that way. Maybe Michael sent someone to take William’s soul?

“Did Michael send someone after William?”, he attempted to clarify.

At last, Uriel sighed, drawing up his shoulders. “You will not let this matter pass, will you?”

Sitri shook his head.

“Fine!”

Uriel glared at the demon for good measure. “I will confide in you, for young master’s sake! But be warned, Sitri, if what I tell you reaches any ear that is not linked to your or my head, you shall wish to never have spoken to me!” Innuendos of torture and redemption made Sitri gulp. Having made his point, Uriel told him: “Michael has grown impatient. He demanded the soul that is rightfully ours” – Sitri huffed – “to be brought to Heaven before the second day following Christ’s birth ends. Another angel offered to help me distracting Michael.” Sitri did not inquire what ‘distracting’ meant. It seemed someone was awfully close to falling. “But he broke his word.” He hesitated shortly, before adding in a kind of explanatory way: “He used to be human.”

Sitri took in the information. _So whoever it is tries to get to the top_ , he mused. Honestly, angels these days behaved like demons! Rebelling against spoken orders, fighting their superiors, breaking agreements ...

“Who is he?”, Sitri broached. Uriel scrutinized the pointed face. An expression of grim curiosity graced it. “Why do you want to know?”

Sitri openly returned: “I’m contemplating the chances of keeping William alive.” This took the angel aback. A disbelieving laughter escaped his throat. “You mean you contemplate when best to devour his soul!”

The light-haired gave a gnarl. “Surely you know all about that, dear angel of justice. If you weren’t assigned to reap his soul as well I’d be touched by your worry for a humble human being!”

They broke into a quarrel, accusing each other of calculated cold-heartedness, advantage-taking and what not else, until both fell silent almost simultaneously, glaring at one another. They didn’t have time for this.

 

Once more it was Sitri who forced himself to make a step towards his enemy-confederate by proposing strained politely: “Since we are getting nowhere like that I suggest we put aside our differences and concentrate solely on him.” He took a deep breath, then reached out a hand – the right one – to the angel, announcing severely: “You have my word that for the time being I won’t touch William’s soul.” Uriel stared, incredulous. A demon’s word? It was worth less than a crumpled down, to an angel at least. Yet, demons were known to follow contracts through to the syllable. But you couldn’t trust them, either.

The angel shut his eyes for a second. What did he have to lose?

So he took the hand in a solid grip, swearing equally severe: “Neither will I.”

 

Funny, the importance of those phrases for their unique allegiance, considering that neither angel nor demon planned to deliver their friend’s soul at all. Still, the link of hands changed everything, if ever so unbeknown. The seed of trust was planted.

 

 

“So, what’s the name?”, Sitri inquired once their hands let go. And: “Is he a danger to William?”

“Metatron.”, Uriel confided, finally, “I honestly cannot tell you. He stated not to have any business with Solomon, but as I said, he can’t be trusted. When he ... _tended_ to Michael I got in his way. It is possible that he relents to using the boy against me.”

Sitri gaped. “Metatron? Michael’s right hand?” Oh, if things hadn’t been bad already!

“You came to know him by the name _Sean_.”, Uriel added, making Sitri gasp, then charge: “How many of your people are stationed around him?!”

“You have no ground to complain with three of you around!”

“Hmpf!”

 

One serious argument, five quarrels and lots of bickering, embedded in an almost three-hour-talk, later Sitri knew the gist of Uriel’s interactions with Michael and Metatron. They had tried to form a plan, resulting in acknowledging that there were too many variables pertaining Metatron, that he might by now have found Michael on his own (who really hadn’t been that well hidden) and for that matter have no interest in William what so ever. Time would have to show.

 

“Are you ready, then?”, an impatient angel queried.

Sitri nodded and finally opened the requested portal, leading South.

 

~*~

 

As usual William ignored the opening of the door as Amon and Mamon came in, delivering his dinner. Only that this time it weren’t them, as the blonde noticed when a tablet was placed in front of him in company with Baphomet’s voice chiding: “I am tired of throwing away half the food! Until you’ve eaten the last bite I shall not leave this room!”

The cook really sounded miffed. William couldn’t care less. Just why couldn’t they understand that he was unhappy locked up in this room? Instead they’d ramble about how much effort Dantalion was putting into his safety, how fiercely he fought for him, or how he could complain about a room this luxurious. It all wasn’t wanted. But they didn’t get it.

He inclined his head, which was resting in his hand, towards the goat. “Are they still fighting?”

The question lacked interest.

Baphomet sat beside him, meanwhile removing the lid of the tablet. The rich smell of Roast beef and potatoes filled the area.

“Gilles de Rais is a bother searching for its likes.”, the demon said, “I doubt he’ll give up anytime soon.” He thrust a fork in William’s hand, who took it to poke a poor helpless potato.

As the vegetable disintegrated into chunks beneath his ministrations, he mused aloud: “If demons weren’t that uncivilized, we could have sought this out for days. Just what is it with them having to flog each other instead of discussing matters?”

“Because humans fare so well with it.”, the demon mocked. William grunted.

“At least we don- Baphomet?”

 

Baphomet had gone rigid all of a sudden, his head inclined as if trying to listen for something. With no further explanation he was up and practically flew toward the door. William heard his retreating, hasty footsteps.

“Now what was that?”, he wondered.

 

He should learn an instant later, when the building almost jumped with the force of an attack. Walls and floor shook like jelly, furniture toppled over. The potatoes which survived the fork massacre escaped the plate and rolled from the table, leaving brown splotchy tracks of sauce. Though not as round William followed their example, involuntarily of course. He, alas, did not leave any tracks. The table leg left a mark on his head, but that was a different story.

Before he could get to his legs, the house shook one more time. The brinks in the wall were beginning to abandon their union. This was his chance! Finding the fork again, seizing it, he made for the nearest wall, ramming it full force into one of the building cracks. Again. And again.

 

“Begone!”

The assault hit him in his sides, its strength catapulting him into his own mansion, bumping into the wall, ricocheting like a basketball. Another blast followed suit, this time crashing him through the masonry. Dantalion passed three rooms before he came to a halt on the floor, his clothes ripped and messy. William started when his host broke through the wall to his left, looking like someone had hit him with a frying pan. The black haired sighed like a man who acknowledged defeat.

“There’s someone there for you.”, he said unpleasantly, pointing in the direction from which he came. “You’re all mad!”, he added. “You, that angel, Sitri ... Me possibly, too, for letting you go.” He sighed again, not even bothering to stand or sit up.

Angel? Williams ears rang. He turned on the spot and sprinted out of the house like he never sprinted before in his life. A familiar shape greeted him outside.

“Kevin!”

The adolescent flung himself at the angel, almost crying with relief. Uriel hugged him briefly. He couldn’t help but to smile brightly.

 

“Come, young master. Let’s head home.” Before Hell’s armies arrived to clean the white spot of its black canvas.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for having taken so long for this. I was busy studying plus I really battle with in-between-chapters.  
> Have a nice read!

Long before any demon soldier appeared angel and human were gone. Uriel had taken William to a portal nearby, leading to the ruin once known as Isaacs home. William stood dumbstruck, his eyes fixed on the charred walls. He had seen destroyed houses before – more than a year ago, at his first accidental trip to Hell, for example. Gilles de Rais had pulverised Dantalion’s mansion like a castle of sand. So far, destroyed premises didn’t bother him, but those premises had always been demons’. To see this house in shatters felt different. For the first time William was truly shocked by supernatural forces’ doing. Destroying buildings in Hell that could be rebuilt with a snap of devilish fingers did not feel completely real. What harm did it do? But this time people he knew got hurt. Real people. People who could not simply redo everything within seconds. The living place of a family was gone, most of their treasured belongings along with it. What for? He had no clue.

 _Because they fought there_ , William thought, _because they did not care what destruction they might cause._ He looked at the man standing next to him. According to Sitri, Kevin had known of the attack beforehand, thus send them away. If he indeed had known, why didn’t he spare the house and its inhabitants? Did he even care? _“You know nothing about that angel!”_ Who had said that to him? Had it been Dantalion?

At times like these he felt the truth of those words. And yet he refused to believe in it. He knew Kevin for years! Kevin, who was always as gentle and calm that William used to believe him to be a weak coward. Kevin, who’d fulfil every given order as best as he could, who did not fear to speak his mind to his young master, who needed mere seconds to deduce Williams emotional state. Kevin, who could not harm any living being, who listened patiently to everything, who comforted and guided him.

But he did not know Uriel.

 

 _Yes, you do,_ a sly voice, usually buried deep inside his mind, whispered. Images came to him, resurfaced memories of a figure in black and white, cold and majestic, hovering ten metres above him. Uriel; cold-hearted, almost bare of emotions, feeling absolutely in his right. He remembered indicting the angel. _“Why did you take my sister? She was a woman of believe.”_ He remembered the pain of loss and his growing wrath at the uncaring creature as his memory repeated words spoken lifetimes ago in a language he shouldn’t be able to understand. _“Those who live their lives according to His law shall gladly sacrifice their existence in His name.”_ ‘I do not care’ in modern day language. She was but a pawn, a means to bend his will, as he was a pawn, too.

 

The gentle man, the brutal angel. His soft smile, a face hard as stone. The friend worrying for his well-being, the nemesis torturing him. The man comforting him at his parents’ grave, the celestial being reaping innocent souls only to hurt him. Which was real, which was the mask?

 

Not too long ago he already pondered about that, when he searched for a Christmas present for his friend. Weird. Christmas time must have been in another lifetime.

 

The blonde’s gaze swiped burst walls, splinters of wood and glass, furniture ... the living room where they exchanged presents. The couch was toppled over. The chimney looked as if burnt from outside, as did several parts of anything his eyes found. _Like they had been hit by a rain of comets_ , William thought. He tried to imagine the night after he and Isaac had left. In his imagination the staff ran headless about, screaming in terror. Fire rained down, windows shattered next to them, the roof gave way. How many died? There was no blood visible anywhere he could see, though.

 

Once more his eyes slunk back to Uriel. Did he even care?

A shock crept over his skin as he realised the direction his thoughts were going. With a firm shake of his head and a stiff 360°-turn he reprimanded his brain: These images you show me do not belong to me! I am not Solomon. And Kevin is foremost Kevin, whoever he might have been centuries ago.

 

Kevin turned his head to look at him as he marched past him and remarked: “No human was hurt. They fled before it became dangerous.”

William nodded stiffly.

There he was, his Kevin, who could tell what he was feeling like others could tell the weather after looking at the sky. The thought of asking Kevin about what exactly happened crossed his mind. He did not, though, for reasons unknown to him. _What might Isaac have felt when he returned here?_ , he wondered.

 

Kevin gently put a hand on his shoulder, simultaneously putting an end to his internal pondering. “We should return to Stradford. It isn’t wise to linger.”

At the mention of Stradford William realised that holidays must be over for some time by now. He didn’t give it a thought until then. How long was he missing already? What should he say to justify his absence?

“Do not worry”, Kevin’s voice sounded, “No one will doubt that you’ve been struck down by a nasty case of flu. As for the reverend, he was present for every day since the start of term. Everyone remembers attending mass each morning.”

Wordlessly, William stared at Kevin. Or did he look at Uriel? Hearing him talk about manipulating people’s memories so airily - to imagine that he would temper with one’s mind without second thought - was scary.

_“You know nothing about that angel!”_

His gaze searched the ruined house again. _“No human was hurt.”_ Not nobody... no human. Did it mean that someone had been hurt? Maybe even killed? Kevin’s face was an emotionless mask. It looked wrong. As long as he could remember, Kevin had always smiled kindly. Even when a younger William had scolded him that it looked sheepish and infantile, those thin lips had always been bent in a gentle arc, spreading warmth. He wanted to see him smile again.

At the same time the image of Kevin covered in blood re-emerged before his inner eye. A sudden need to touch him formed, to convince himself that Kevin was alive.

“Kevin?”, William addressed this need, unsure what to say to him. The angel looked at him patiently. Now what? _Are you alright? Are you alive?_

Cursing his infantile urge the boy stammered “It’s cold!” to say something. Oh great, it sounded dumb nonetheless. His cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

 

Kevin’s expression changed, as if he knew.

“Now, shall we go?”

The man who raised him smiled at him, gesticulating towards the portal he just created. William smiled back.

 

 

 

The portal did not, as expected, lead to the school grounds, but spit them out in front of an abandoned, small church. The surrounding lands looked equally deserted, speckled with patches of wild frozen grass. The door was closed, the windows layered with dust, indicating that it hadn’t been used for quite some time. What on earth did they want in a place like that? Did Kevin get his portal wrong? Raising an eyebrow and opening his mouth to inquire William got intermitted by a tense “I just need to check on something. I’ll be quick.” before a rigid Kevin cautiously opened the door and stepped into the building. Bewildered and curious William followed, his gaze scanning the small hall. But except for dusty benches, half-burned candle stumps and a lectern it was empty. Kevin quickly marched towards said lectern, strained like walking to his own guillotine. William just saw his back, saw the tense shoulders drop. Not daring to move or make a noise, he watched his friend standing there, staring at the ground for a moment. Whatever Kevin was looking for, its absence seemed to make him ... sad? The boy wasn’t sure.

Before the moment dragged on for too long the angel turned, stiff, expressionless, strode past him and out of the building.

Huh? William went after him, worried.

 

He found Kevin outside, his eyes closed, head down. William approached slowly. For a moment the pale face displayed grave pain, before the angel exhaled, raising his head and opening his eyes, all back to a blank expression.

Helplessly William watched him, at a loss for what to do. He should comfort him, he was aware, say something reassuring, maybe lay a hand on his shoulder. Damn, why couldn’t he think of anything? _Stupid, useless brain! You can come up with Latin, Mathematics, Physics, but you do not provide caring words for a friend in pain?_

 

Kevin rose his hand and a silvery spark detached from it, dancing in mid-air. A new portal formed in silence. When it was ready, Kevin turned his head, shaking William to the core.

A forced smile obscured his fine features. His face was still young and beautiful, but the weight of its bearer’s age shone through the lines. _How tired he suddenly looks!_ , William thought, gulping. Whatever Kevin found – or did not find – in that church posed a heavy burden on him. Yet he acted as if everything was fine. Didn’t he know that his faked smile screamed the opposite?

 _It’s okay_ , William wanted to say, _You can tell me. You don’t have to hide your worry._ He wanted to take his friend’s hand and squeeze it, wanted to tell him he could confide in him. He wished Kevin to trust him as he trusted Kevin. Instead he merely nodded as his Butler asked: “Ready? Normal life is waiting.” and walked over to the magical door when he made an inviting hand gesture.

 _Why_ , he asked himself while they strode through the door and along the familiar corridors of Stradford, _didn’t I ask him?_

Some classmates greeted him on his way to his dorm, much unnoticed by the boy. Why didn’t he inquire answers or gave comfort to Kevin? Did he fear the answers he might get? But it was over now, wasn’t it? Or would there be another attack?

Plucking up his courage he stopped walking and faced the man next to him to finally demand some answers – to find out that it was not Kevin walking beside him but Mycroft. Huh? When did he lose Kevin? Puzzled his head flew from side to side, checking if the angel was anywhere near, but he was gone.

“Twining?”, Mycroft addressed him. Apparently he had been talking to him until now. He’d been too lost in concerns to notice, he observed with a feeling of guilt.

“You’re still a little put through, hu? Must have been a heavy case of flu.”

“Ah y-yes.”

“Then it’s a good thing you returned on a Friday evening. You’ll have two more days to recover and get started with classwork.” The dark haired boy smiled honestly at him. “I was glad when your letter arrived, finally announcing that you’re getting better. You’ve never been missing two weeks in a row before! As you requested I wrote down what we’ve been reading so far and put the notes on your desk ...”

“Sorry for causing you trouble!”, the blonde hurried to say, thankful nonetheless.

 

Good old Mycroft! Within minutes he managed to return William’s world to calm normality as he walked him to his room, informing him of the latest events and homework on the way. They spent the rest of the evening together, catching up on Physics and Chemistry over a cup of coffee. For some wonderful hours neither Heaven nor Hell existed, just a pile of books and a lively discussion about Maxwell’s equations.

 

When night time came and everybody was required to frequent their personal rooms, however, William was unable to occupy his mind with reading Shakespeare’s King Henry IV for literature class. The normality he had been enjoying dissolved when there was nobody to divert his attention. So he gave in to his loud mind, put the book aside and laid down for the night. His dreams were cramped with letters he never wrote, marionette-like students circling him like zombies and culminated in the whole school being nothing but a stage, teachers and students all dangling from the invisible ceiling on puppet strings and a giant Kevin pulling the strings of a Mycroft-puppet. No, he didn’t rest well that night.

Luckily on a Saturday sleeping in did not lose him any points with teachers. He missed mass and breakfast, but Kevin should be used to his absence and food could wait. This day would be dedicated to work. And what was best: Since the demons knew where he had been there was no bothering and bickering about his safety! Everybody would leave him peacefully alone. His conversation with Kevin could wait, he decided, until he was confident enough to hold i- _SCRAP THAT_ until he had time to spare for minor supernatural catastrophes! His life was confounded enough as it was, he had no wish to elaborate on that. Still he felt immensely relieved to see Kevin stride across the courtyard, so much so that he even paused his reading to open the window and wave uncharacteristically cheerful at him. Witnessing his butler wandering the small grate between life and death apparently left its imprint. Kevin had beamed at him and waved back as he continued his stroll, leaving a sheepishly happy William to his texts. That meant all was well, right? It had to!

 

 

On Sunday morning he cut mass again. Of course Uriel noticed the repeated absence of the blonde, but didn’t heed it much attention. William had never been one to pray frequently and he would never be. The angel had come to accept the fact.

 

William, however, did in fact not catch on missed classes this morning. Currently he wandered the third floor corridor, music and arts tract, in search for room 3.701 b, clutching a letter in his hand.

 

 

_Dear William,_

_Due to family matters I couldn’t return to school in time._

_I will, however, come back the morning of Sunday, 21 st January. In order not to go into class completely unprepared, could you meet me beforehand to update me on the most important information? You dislike sitting through mass anyway, and I think Pastor Cecil will understand._

_Let’s meet in the old music room._

_Isaak_

 

The letter arrived yesterday. He only read it in the evening though, leaving no time to talk to Kevin. But he wouldn’t freak out just because William cut morning mass (again). He should know by now that William was a lost case.


	22. Chapter 22

**22**

 

“Greetings!”

Instead of Isaak William found Sean sitting by the piano. Well, on the piano.

It bothered William that Sean loitering on the expensive instrument was the first thing which came to his attention. Not that they vanished inexplicably on him, or that actual angels demolished the house he was left at, or that William disappeared for almost two weeks. Dang, before now he completely forgot about him, the small boy he was expected to tutor and protect! And now all his brain cared for was his inappropriate positioning.

 

“Um, Sean ...”, he stammered, feeling guilt kick his guts. “I’m glad you’re ...” Alive? Unharmed? Not traumatized? “... alright.”

The agile boy threw his legs over the instrument’s rim, letting them dangle in an excited rhythm against the polished wood. “Why shouldn’t I be?” He had a weird air to him. Not the usual Sean-weirdness, something more ... furtive? Almost surreptitious. William wondered if this might be Sean’s way of expressing anger, since he’d never seen the boy angry before.

“Ehm ...” Because a building collapsed over your head? Because it rained fire? “The flu?”, William said stupidly.

Sean snorted. Unfairly, as William thought. Like all other students Sean must believe him to have lain sick for days. To think the boy could have caught the same illness was not illogical.

“Listen, Sean, the flu is not a laughing matter.”

“Indeed”, the dark haired nodded wisely, his sombre face a weird contrast to his childishly bumping feet. “It can be lethal. But I doubt you caught it down in Hell.”

Boom.

Like a bolt it struck William, deprived him of all thought but one: _He knows!_ But how did he know? Why hadn’t Kevin overwritten his memory as he did to anybody else? Now William had to do something about it. Should he decline the statement, tell Sean that Hell didn’t exist? Or should he be honest and ask the boy to keep the story to himself? Was Sean even capable to keep his little mouth shut?

As dread clouded the older boy’s mind something even more disconcerting happened: Slowly, impressively, wings much bigger than the rest of his body grew out of the child’s back, as his leg movement ceased.

William couldn’t help it, he just stared on in dread. _Not another one!_

“What have you done to Sean?”, he inquired. Was the boy held hostage somewhere? Or did this angel just copy his appearance for fun, while the true Sean played ball with fellow firsties?

The child angel raised a brow, amused. “What, he hasn’t told you?? I _am_ Sean!”

What? William still stared. Thoughts tumbled over each other behind his eyes. If he spoke the truth, then there had never been a Sean, all that time another angel had been spying on him. But Sean was so genuinely childish. He doubted any angel could fake being an eleven-year-old this well. Were there child-angels? No, it was unlikely, Lamia told him. But, then again, Lamia existed, why not a mini angel, too? Was Kevin aware of his presence? He had to be. Why hadn’t he told him, though? Had Sean been part of whatever battle had evolved on Christmas? If so, how come he wasn’t hurt like Kevin had been?

Before he had a chance to voice any of his many questions Sean interrupted: “I know you are confused, but please bear with me for the moment. Unfortunately Uriel made me wait for my triumph when I thought I already had it in my hands. I run low on patience these days, you see. So forgive the lack of proper explanation. All you need to know is that I like you and do not wish to harm you. I’ll merely borrow you to convince Uriel to return what he stole.”

“Stol- HE!”

A pair of gigantic hands seized William from behind.

“May I introduce?”, Sean pushed himself off the piano, “my Brother. I told you about him when we exchanged presents. He’s a brilliant composer.”

The blonde stared at the smaller one in annoyance.

 _So much for “no time to explain”. If you have time to tell me this, I’d rather know about what’s going on here_ , William thought begrudged while he was lifted off the ground and carried toward a portal leading hell-knows-where. “Will I at least be back for class tomorrow?”

Sean flashed him an amused smile. He really loved William’s attitude. “That depends solely on Uriel.”

 

~*~

 

 

Uriel stared at the student who stood behind the leaving crowd of adolescents. Metatron. Why? Why now? Why here?

As the students hurried outside, eager to enjoy their free day, Uriel turned wordlessly on his heel and walked towards his small room in the church’s side aisle. Metatron followed. When he reached his chamber he walked directly up to the window, closed the curtains and waited, back turned, eyes shut, while Metatron entered the room and closed the door.

 

“Do you not want to look at me or can’t you?”

Uriel remained silent, waited.

Metatron flung himself on the untouched bed as he had done several times before when he chose to annoy the other angel. Arms tucked behind his head, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, he went on: “We both know why I am here. Let’s not make this any more complicated.”

 _There is nothing complicated about it. You will kill me for interfering with your plans. Plain and easy. The only question open to answer is if you’ll grant me a clean, fast death, or if you plan to torture me as you tortured Michael._ His back stiffened slightly as he fought the icy dread gripping his heart at the thought of breaking bones mixed with older memories. At least Michael still must have been unconscious when Metatron disposed of him. A blessing Uriel couldn’t hope for.

Metatron looked at the back of Uriel’s dark brown hair, displeased.

“Still want to play stubborn?”

No reaction.

He sat upright.

“I have no wish to hurt William. Just tell me where you brought the old man and this’ll be settled.”

Uriel’s head darted around. He looked Metatron in the eyes, heavily bewildered.

Metatron furrowed his brows.

 

~*~

 

“And he didn’t believe you?”, Raguel asked. Uriel shook his head.

They were sitting at a small round table in Raguel’s room, in the temple-like villa on one of the great floating isles nearest the sacred palace of God, where the highest ranked angels had their quarters. Lost for options Uriel came here to ask for advice of one of his oldest friends, who – more than Uriel had hoped – listened as he laid open the full extent of what had transpired on earth with calm.

“Michael had been unconscious and hurt when you left him and gone when you returned?”, Raguel summarised. Uriel nodded. The grim expression of reaching an unpleasant conclusion settled on Raguel’s face. Naturally he was irate about the folly Uriel had and kept committing. Still, his loyalty rooted deeply. Instead of turning his back on Uriel, who, concerning his course of action, would likely be dead (or worse, _fallen_ ) in a matter of days, he contemplated his story, searching for a solution.

“It’s highly unlikely for him to have regained enough strength to leave on his own. He cannot have been delivered back to Heaven, because then I’d know about it. There were no humans in the vicinity who could have found him, you say. And Metatron didn’t take him. This leaves merely one conclusion”, Raguel paused for a moment, his lips contorting in utter disgust. Uriel waited with baited breath, too tired to think as fast.

“If he is not in Heaven and not on earth, he must be in Hell.”

Uriel gasped: “Impossible!”

“You’ve been there, too.”, Raguel stated, his voice bare of any emotion. “Twice.” Uriel noticed the accusation hiding behind Raguel’s stony eyes.

“This is different. Michael won’t have gone there of his own accord. He wasn’t strong enough. And no demon would have had an interest to take him. If one found him, he’d have killed him.”

“And taken his corpse as proof to Lucifer.”, Raguel concluded. “I never said he was down there alive.”

Michael killed by some low demon ravaging the realm of the humans for scraps, it was unthinkable. Uriel declined the possibility: “It cannot be. I have been in the house of one of the most influential demons for the entire time. Word would have spread.”

“And to how many demons did you talk during your stay?”, Raguel continued his rational analysis, “One. That he didn’t tell you doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Still, Uriel doubted it. No, he was absolutely sure it wasn’t true.

“If they had him, Heaven would know by now. They’d brag about it.” Yet the fact remained that Michael was missing for weeks by then and no angel had a clue where he might be. Raguel’s tip was the only plausible answer, yet improbable at best.

 _I not just deceived God’s trust by openly attacking another angel, I doomed Michael and dragged William into this, as well._ Was it possible to save at least the young man?

“What shall I do?”, Uriel murmured to himself.

Raguel spoke his mind as he rose from the chair: “Forget about the human. Stay. Fulfil your duties. Be yourself again.”

He placed a hand on the shoulder of the angel he had adored for centuries.

“Despite all you’ve done, God allowed you to return. You didn’t fall. Our Father forgave you. You belong here.”

The gaze with which he held Uriel’s was intense, pleading. Uriel looked at him sadly. “I cannot.”

“Why?” Raguel was agitated. “What is it that draws you back to this human? What can he give that you do not find here?”

Uriel thought about this for a moment. What was different about William? What inspired his intense loyalty? The truth surprised him.

“It makes me happy.”

The other didn’t understand. How could service to a human make him happier than service to God? Uriel couldn’t answer that one.

Raguel examined Uriel’s face for a while, until he sighed in resignation. “You’re a hopeless case.” Still, he would help him.

“As I see it we have two options. Number one: Give Metatron what he wants. Or rather trick him into thinking we do.”, Raguel elaborated. “Number two: Hunt him down.”

They indulged a moment to think. The one making the decision then was Uriel: “Tricking him won’t work that easily. Who shall play the bait? No angel resembles Michael close enough to fool Metatron for even a heartbeat. Hunting him down requires forces we do not have.” He took a deep breath. “There’s actually another option. If we report all that happened to the commanding angels they’ll declare him a fallen angel.” “And you alongside him!”, Raguel interrupted, brisk. Uriel ignored it, kept speaking: “I bet he will want to prevent his fall, therefore I suggest exchanging William for our quiet.”

Raguel was not convinced. “If you threaten him, he’ll simply kill you.”

“That’s why I’ll talk to him while you remain here. If I don’t come back you’ll report all I’ve told you to –“

“No.”

Raguel was definite. He’d help Uriel. Not William. Uriel’s death was not what he planned to let happen as long as he could interfere.

“All this tactic is good for is getting you killed.” Even before Raguel said any more, Uriel collapsed to his chair in defeat. His fatigue showed clearer than ever. Again Raguel placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure his friend.

“Maybe you should go to sleep.”, he proposed gently. “In a hundred years things might have solved themselves.”

A mirthless laugh escaped Uriel’s throat as he recognised the very words he spoke to Michael. Sleep was a blessing he didn’t deserve. _If only Michael had agreed to retreating. Then he’d be in Limbo, Metatron on his throne and I at William’s side._

“Might it be that you already wrote your own life off?”

The words stung, yet rung a chord. Raguel noticed at once.

“Listen!”, he hurried to avert the sinking mood, “What if we talk to Raphael about it? He’s currently in charge of Heaven. He is still close to Michael, as you may know. He’ll want to punish Metatron. He might help us.”

Since he had no better idea Uriel nodded his consent.

 

 

Immediately they flew over to Raphael’s quarters and begged for an audience, which they were granted at once.

“How strange for him to see us right away. It almost makes you feel like the old days.”, Uriel muttered.

Raphael’s singsong voice rang out to them long before they reached his main chamber: “How splendidly perfect of a coincidence, you coming here! I already dreaded I would have to call for you and you know how awfully impolite it makes me feel to demand a brother’s visit.” In his usual dance-like mode of locomotion – a mixture of walking on his legs and flying no other angel entertained – he approached them, arms wide in a symbolic hug. He stopped right in front of them, looking Uriel up and down, suddenly oddly severe. “You look awful.”, he stated, unglamorous. Uriel answered with silence, as the statement was plain correct without any need for affirmation. Raphael did not expect a reaction anyway. He whirled around, heading back in the direction he just came from. They pursued.

He guided them into his personal chamber, a place Uriel hadn’t visited for centuries. The windowless, elliptical room was brighter than he remembered. The bed was new as well.

Uriel gasped. Sitting on the bed, propped up against half a dozen pillows, was

“Michael!”

The archangel flashed him a tired smile. “Uriel! I’m glad to see you alive.”

Both, Uriel and Raguel, stared at the smaller angel as if Lucifer suddenly appeared in Heaven again.

Michael’s smile took on a sardonic quality. “Surprised?”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to eveybody who reads this fanfiction. I am very thankful for your consuming my work. Unfortunately I have to inform you that this will be the last chapter of this story. As I am highly occupied with my studies I have few time to write. And, what's much more of a reason, for the last ten or so pillars I have grown more and more unhappy with the series of Makai Ouji. The unsteady character development, the hastened story telling, the overgrown fan service ... no, I haven't enjoyed reading what used to be my favourite manga series for some time now. Lest the end. So I will not continue this fanfiction, because I feel I cannot muster any true motivation to work on this. But do not worry! I know myself how frustrating it is to reach the last available chapter of a story without having the main questions answered. This chapter is a summary of the complete plot that still had to be written, for you to have the story's conclusion at least.
> 
> Again, thank you very much for reading and have fun with the last last chapter of "Contract with a demon"!

24

_There was a great power struggle in Heaven when I was a boy. Back then, many angels resented Michael's rule over the floating land of God. One of them was Metatron, the Chief of the Virtues those days, funny as it sounds today._

_Making use of the fact that the no longer Archangel Uriel had befriended my best friend William, who was said to descend from the holy lineage of kings David and Solomon, Metatron forced his will on him. When Uriel refused to kill Michael, he abducted first me and then William, too._

_An exchange was organised – Michael for us._

_Surprising as it was, Uriel appeared to the meeting on top of mount Zion – Metatron fount it to be the most fitting place to determine the next head of Heaven – accompanied by Michael. Neither William nor I ever expected the Archangel to come._

_Before the actual exchange could begin, an army of angels launched an attack on Metatron, lead by another archangel, Raguel. They had hoped to catch Metatron off guard, but of course he had a garrison of his own soldiers hiding nearby. The battle between the angels was the most gruesome thing I ever witnessed. Until now I revisit it in my dreams from time to time. One would expect demons to be the cruellest fighters for obvious reasons, but the absolute lack of emotion and the cold precision of the faceless soldiers was worse than anything else. No screams, no indication of pain. When hit they showed no reaction, did not stop in their tracks. They fought on until they died, oddly accepting of their fate._

_Another strange fact about the angel battle was that there actually wasn't any bigger disarray. No chaos. Mostly organised formations launching attack after attack. Considering the force of their attacks and the damage radius we would have died hadn't they relocated the combat high into the air. You see, mount Zion was holy to them. They did not want to destroy the place._

_During the fight Uriel opened a magic portal for us to get back to Britain before he joined the fight himself, but William insisted to stay for he was worried for his friend. As he shouted for him to come with us while dead bodies rained down all around us almost soundlessly, two angels broke out of their formation, scooped down and seized him. They hauled him up in the air and vanished with him. Shortly after them Michael left, directly followed by Uriel._

_The fight died shortly after, leaving me standing on the hill, a shimmering white portal hole two feet away from me, surrounded by dead bodies. I was the only living being left, immobilised by shock. Around me the deceased angelic bodies erupted in flames. Since angels are made of fire and light, their remains burn when the soul left the body._

_Instead of returning home I called for help. A demon's help to be precise. Dantalion, Duke in Hell's South, obliged to protect the bearer of Solomon's ring, answered my summoning. Together we investigated what had happened to William._

_It is hard to explain the relation of all that happened next. I will try to list the events in chronological order._

_Dantalion sensed that his master – Lucifer himself – was being summoned to the human world. Assuming that the only human powerful enough to force him to appear must be the one in possession of the ring, we followed the call to find William, held hostage by Michael. The Archangel had forced him to call Lucifer there to finally end the battle with his brother properly. Michael was obsessed with killing his sibling, you must know. Albeit, Lucifer was pretty disinterested, only slightly humoured by his brother's determination. He evaded every attack, mocking Michael for being clumsy and tired, no match for him. To entertain himself, he ordered Dantalion to kill the Archangel and marvelled in the chaos unfolding. For, not only did Michael attack his brother like a maniac, he now had to evade being attacked by Dantalion simultaneously._

_Metatron and his brother Sandalphon joined the chaos, attracted by the enormous magic energy concentrated on the spot. They also went directly for Michael._

_Uriel tried to get William and me to safety, but William brushed his help off, fixated on getting to Lucifer to tell him off. William just was this guy who could ignore any dangerous situation and directly confront anybody. He demanded Lucifer take him out of the elections – I will elaborate on that later – and stop making Dantalion kill for his enjoyment._

_Trying to persuade him he followed the Devil around, getting in the way of Michael's attacks, Uriel having to fend him off in order to protect my stubborn friend._

_In contrast to the well-ordered angels-only-battle from before the mix of angels and demons was one hell of a mess. As I watched from afar, more combatants arrived on the scene, joining in: faceless soldier angels called by Michael to keep Dantalion and Metatron off of him, Camio, Lucifer's son, alarmed by his father being unleashed in the human world again, Samael called by Lucifer to get the angel soldiers off the plane to have his brother's struggle hardened again, Raguel attempting to get Uriel out of the danger zone._

_In the crowd I could no longer clearly make out what happened, but at some point, most angel soldiers lost their lives. Some had left to ring alarm and before long an armada of high ranking angels appeared on the plan to save their leader. This of course called more demons to the scene._

_The whole thing grew into a war between both sides. I have to admit, I made a run for it. No human stands a chance in the war between Heaven and Hell. Nobody paid any attention for me._

_I ran for a long time as we were somewhere far away from any town or village. I do not know how long it took me to reach a place inhabited by people. Finally I reached a place called Montfort-sur-Risle, located, as I learned then, in the Normandy. The people were nice to me though I could not explain where I came from and had me stay with an older couple whose daughter had moved just a week before into her own new house with her husband._

_Since I had no money with me to travel back home and did not dare to try to summon a demon for help I wrote a letter to my parents, explaining that I had been hijacked and currently in France, with a beg to send some money for me to get home. Unfortunately they never replied. Later I found out they believed me to have run away. We never were on good speaking terms ever again._

_I stayed in Montfort-sur-Risle for the next months, working in a cheese shop to earn my keep, enjoying my time there, despite being worried sick about the ongoing war somewhere east._

_After three months, when I had not heard anything from William or any angel or demon, I collected my courage and tried to find my way back to the fighting place. All I found were acres od burnt land._

_Desperate for answers I dared to prepare a summoning. For, what else could I have done? I settled for Sitri, who – for all I knew – wasn't part of the battle, but always around William if possible. The summoning did not work, but minutes later Sitri appeared before me nonetheless, a sad expression on his face and a pair of wings on his back. He explained to me that, never having truly fallen in the first place, being close to an angel for a longer period of time somehow had him transform back into a true angel. Baalberith had wanted to take the wings off him, but Sitri managed to flee. He had been welcomed into the lower ranks of Heaven, because there weren't many angels left. He told me about the last months' happenings:_

_Heaven and Hell went all out on each other to finally settle the score. The number of victims was high. From the people I knew, few survived the battle. Dantalion and Michael, Raguel, Gilles de Rais and Sandalphon died. Uriel managed to kill Metatron. Lucifer apparently hurt Camio badly, did not kill him, though. Overall, their higher number gave an enormous advantage to the demons, who eradicated almost two thirds of the enemy, forcing Heaven to retreat._

_But the most important thing he told me last._

_William had not survived. I gulped. I had never lost a dear person to death before and didn't really know how to cope._

_Sitri explained that he was killed when he pushed Uriel out of the way of an attack. He died a fast death._

_I asked about Uriel._

_Apparently Uriel withdrew from the fight at once after William's death. He had taken his soul with him, returned it to the circle of rebirth, and vowed to protect him properly the next time he will wander the earth. Until then Uriel went to a long denied, deep sleep._

_I thanked Sitri, who returned to Heaven._

_Standing there, overwhelmed by feelings, I thought. When the dawn came I had decided: I would return to Britain, find out why my parents ignored my letter, tell about William's death and then train to become a master of magic. Surely Mathers could guide me to understand all the magic that surrounds us, to understand Heaven and Hell. I would write down all that I'll learn and share my knowledge with the world. And I would write about William._

\- Excerpt from the Biography of Isaak Morton


End file.
